


I'll Make You Bleed

by blueTshirts, thesketchytepe



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Annie Will Fight a Bitch, Armin Is The Man With A Plan, Bert Actually Helps Somehow, Don't Hope For A Happy Ending, Eren Needs To Be Punched In The Face, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jean Hates Everyone, Knives, Marco Deserves Better, Mikasa Is Almost Irrelevant, Poisoning, Psychological Torture, Rated For Violence, References to Depression, Reiner Is A Depressed Mountain, Sasha And Connie Are The Best Characters And You Can't Prove Otherwise, Serial Killer Zeke, Suicide, You've been warned, all established relationships - Freeform, cabin in the woods, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:54:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 93,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23997844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueTshirts/pseuds/blueTshirts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesketchytepe/pseuds/thesketchytepe
Summary: After Zeke is arrested for murdering seven doctors at Trost Hospital, Eren invites the gang to his family's cabin to get their minds off the case. But soon enough blood is spilled and panic ensues. The desperate teens hatch up a plan to catch the killer outside, but everyone has different ideas on who exactly the killer is. How far are you willing to go to protect the ones you love?Inspired but Until Dawn. Written by thesketchytepe and blueTshirts
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Annie Leonhart, Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Ymir, Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein, Reiner Braun/Bertolt Hoover, Sasha Blouse/Connie Springer
Comments: 112
Kudos: 96





	1. Bag of Bones (Jean POV)

**Author's Note:**

> **written by blueTshirts**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'd like to recommend Andrew Judah's "Fear" if you would like to listen to a song that'll get you in the mood for our new fic. Thank you for your reading eyes! 
> 
> **written by blueTshirts**

7:27 PM 

The darkness always makes things worse. Although, I don’t think these woods need the darkness to make them feel any more despairing. The Jaeger Estate does that just fine on its own. 

Towering pine trees with thin, ragged trunks protrude from the ground like arrows from a bale of hay. The space between the trees is filled with hanging branches, patchy foliage, and inky darkness. Above the trees there are patches of sky dotted with lights. I can’t decide if it’s comforting or not. It only reminds me that we’re in the middle of nowhere. 

I frown at the nature around us, it gives me the creeps. I sigh breathing in the smell of burning logs, moist air, and weed. Marco gets our bags out of the trunk of my car, strapping them on his back and making him look like a human pack mule. I don’t know why he brought so much stuff. We’re only here for the weekend, and all we’re going to do is smoke, eat, and chill. 

I glance at the cabin in front of us. It’s so weird being here. It’s been over a year now since the last time all twelve of us spent time here. To be fair, Eren hasn’t really had much time to party for a while now. Not since his half-brother, Zeke, was accused of murdering five people. 

“Let’s get inside,” I mutter to Marco who, for some reason, is digging through one of his bags and using his phone as a flashlight. 

“I think I forgot my face wash,” he says like he’s perfectly content standing out here like these woods aren’t completely haunted. 

“Why are you looking for your face wash?” I ask, annoyed. 

“Did you bring any?” he asks, ignoring me. 

“No, I didn’t bring any damned face wash, just use someone else's. Let’s just go inside,” I whine taking a cautious look over my shoulder. The only thing there is to see are very dark, very intimidating woods. I can’t shake the feeling that someone, or something, is watching us. 

Maybe Zeke isn’t in prison like the news says. 

Marco looks up from his bag with an eyebrow raised at me. “You good?” he asks with a slight smirk as he recognizes my panic face. 

“I’m fine, I just don’t want to be out here any longer.” 

His smirk deepens, “You scared?” 

I glare at him. “Shut up, dick, it’s just weird, okay? Like aren’t you uncomfortable too? His brother literally stashes the bodies in the woods here.”

“The bodies aren’t here anymore, Jean,” Marco says.

“Yeah, but what if their ghosts are?” 

Marco starts snickering and pinches my chin. “You’re so cute.” 

“Don’t call me cute,” I pout. 

“Mm, you’re even cuter when you’re angry.” 

“I’ll hit you,” I warn. 

Marco tilts his head with a point of challenge. “You can go in without me, you know.” 

Hm, a forest full of ghosts or a room full of all the people that make me want to blow my brains out half the time. I purse my lips together. “I’ll wait.” 

Marco hums and goes back to searching for his long lost fucking face wash. 

I let out a long sigh and resort to talking my anxiety away. “Don’t you think it’s odd that Eren wants us to meet here, like, why can’t we just go to his house? Why meet in the fucking middle of some haunted ass-”

“Eren has had a tough year. He’s not only had to deal with millions of interviews and a strenuous court case, but he’s also lost his brother, the only family he has right now.” 

“He has Mikasa,” I say glancing back at the cabin and seeing a few figures mulling about past the glass windows. 

“Never-the-less, Zeke killed not only some really good doctors in Trost, but his own dad. Not only does the whole city want Zeke dead but they also want to make Eren’s life miserable for no reason.” Marco curses to himself most likely more so about the face wash rather than our friends horrific life. He turns his phone's flashlight off and zips up his bag. “I don’t blame Eren for wanting to be away from people to just blow off some steam, be distracted for a little while, and not have to worry about some mob busting down his door with fire and pitchforks.” 

The faint light from the cabin and the glow from the moon make Marco look soft. His pretty, delicate features distract me from being terrified for a moment. Maybe Marco’s just that attractive or I’m hopelessly in love with the kid. Probably the former. 

“And besides, we’re Eren’s friends. We’re here to support him, right?” Marco adds. 

I rub my eyes between my forefinger and thumb. “Yeah yeah, we’re his friends and here to support him blah blah blah, but still...” I twist the straps of my backpack around my shoulders, “when’s the last time either of us talked to Eren? I’m pretty sure the kid’s half mad at this point.” 

“Jean,” Marco says with a sigh.

“Dude, have you talked to Armin lately? He said Eren’s, like, losing touch with reality or something, like, he’s not okay right now.” I swallow knowing that not only am I anxious about the creepy ass woods but also that this weekend could turn to a form of therapy session for Eren. And I’m not good with that shit. Especially because I don’t like Eren. 

Marco stares at me for a moment, the dim light makes his brown eyes even darker. It’s hot but also a little scary. Most people think Marco’s a little - well, vaguely large - ball of fuzz that’s just trying to do good for the world and make people happy. But actually, he doesn’t take shit from anyone. He makes me look like a puss sometimes. 

“Your brother killed your father because he thought that he killed your mother, plus your brother killed four other good men with families of their own while he was supposed to be raising you.” Marco pauses, “Wouldn’t you be a little messed up too?” 

I sigh, defeated. “It doesn’t help that Eren was already a psychopath,” I mutter, kicking an empty beer bottle across dead grass. Before I can act like an even bigger baby and make Marco kiss me to stop pouting, I hear an odd clank of the discarded bottle. 

I freeze for a moment. It probably just hit a rock. But I still have an anxious pit in my stomach. I step towards where the bottle was flung as Marco slings his last bag over his shoulder and locks up the car.

The ground is littered with leaves in shades of red and brown. Each step squishes into mud and I curse Eren under my breath for my future cleaning of my precious Doc’s. I squint through the dark until I find the bottle. 

I chuckle to myself. God, I’m such an idiot. 

I bend to grab the pale stone that the bottle bounced off but the thing doesn't lift from the mud. I pause then try to yank at the smoothed rock again from the earth. It takes another strong pull with the help of my legs to rip the oddly long stone out of the ground. But once it’s in the light, I freeze. 

I stare bug eyed at the long, smooth femur bone covered in mud in my hand. 

“Mother fucking Jesus Christ!” I blurt as I fling the bone as far away from me as possible. I furiously rub my hands over my jeans until my palms burn as I mutter, “oh my god,” under my breath repeatedly. 

“What what what what?” Marco says running up behind me.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my GOD, oh my god,” I whine as I look at my hands in disgust. I squeeze them into fists and shove them under my armpits. “It was a bone, it was a human bone, it was a bone not a rock, it was a bone, oh my god, it was a leg bone, holy fucking shit.” I grit my teeth together to try and not gag. 

“Okay okay, chill out dude, I don’t think it was a human bone,” Marco says putting his hands on my biceps and peering over his shoulder to see where I could’ve possibly yeeted human remains.

“I know what human bones look like, Marco,” I hiss curling in on myself and feeling like I want to go home. “I knew some shit like this was going to happen.” A chill runs up my spine as icy October wind sweeps under my clothes. I look back at the trees as they sway slightly with the wind, leaves fall in swirling, jagged patterns, and the insects go silent for a moment. Marco drops his hands from my arms and I almost leap to latch onto his arm if it weren’t for the fact that he was going directly towards the fucking bone. 

“I'm fairly sure any human bones wouldn’t be so close to the house, dear,” Marco says patronizingly as he wanders into the darkness around the house. 

“Dickhead, seriously, I’m not fucking joking,” I yell at my boyfriend as he continues to get farther from me, and leaving me to fend for myself with the ghosts. I consider going to wait in the car until I see Marco and his flashlight stop a few yards ahead of me. 

“Wait,” I hear him call. He bends and picks up something, turning back to me and holds the thing up in the air. “Is this it?” 

I stare at him in horror as he walks back to me like we’re playing some twisted game of fetch. He investigates the bone as he walks, flipping it and picking at the enamel. When I can see him clearer in the light from the cabin my heart sags at the sight of the fucking bone. 

“Marco,” I call, raising my voice in warning. “Put-” my body recoils as I gag. I put a hand out to block my view of the shit in Marco’s hands. “I swear to God Marco, put that shit down. I can’t.” He continues walking like he doesn’t care and comes right up to me. “Get the- get the fuck back you pyscho, I’m not fucking playing.”

He finally stops a few feet away from me. He looks at the bone thoughtfully, like he’s studying it, like it’s fucking interesting to him and as if it wasn’t once part of a human body. God, pre-med majors are freaks. 

“Marco, seriously, put it down, lets go tell Eren,” I say sweating for some reason. 

Marco looks up at me for a moment, his thinking face still on, and then proceeds to scan the lawn for more bones? He swings the femur lazily by his side, like it’s nothing more than a muddy stick. 

“Marco,” I say weakly. He stops again by the porch of the cabin, then squats and nonchalantly flips the bone in his hand. He looks over his shoulder at me and smiles. 

“C’mere!” he calls waving the bone along with his words. I shake my head and take a step back. “Come on! It’s okay!” he says again. 

“Nope, fuck you,” I call back without any punch to my words. 

Marco smiles and shakes his head. He stands then gestures with his new best friend bone and his flashlight at something on the ground. 

I squint. The light reflects off a stone protruding from the ground that has the words, “Rest In Pieces” on the face of it. I frown. 

“It’s fake, Jean,” he says. He points to the rocking chairs on the porch. “Look, there’s his best friend.” 

A full bodied skeleton sits lounging in one of the chairs with a beer bottle positioned in its hand. The porch railing is wrapped in orange and purple lights. Strands of pulled cotton are stretched over the front door making it look covered in spider webs. Plump orange pumpkins line the gravel walkway to the front door. X’s of caution tape cross on all the front windows. 

I squeeze my eyes shut. 

Mother. Fucking. Halloween. 

“I want to go home,” I say rubbing my hands down my face. My body feels exhausted. Why am I doing this to myself? Everyone else planned on coming to this stupid weekend for Eren, I should’ve just let them have fun without me. I didn’t know I’d be so stressed out. 

Marco starts laughing at me again. He tosses the bone aside and jogs noisily to me with his bags bouncing loudly off his back. He wraps his long arms round me immediately and lays his cheek on my head. 

“Aw, my poor baby got the shit scared out of him by some Halloween decorations,” he hums as he gives me a squeeze. “Don’t worry babe, I’ll protect you from the skeletons.” 

I ignore the annoyance in the back of my head and let Marco baby/patronize me for a moment. 

“And the ghosts?” I ask pitifully into his shoulder. It’s stupid but I still want to hear it. 

He chuckles softly. “And the ghosts.” 

“And Eren?” I add. 

“And Eren,” he repeats. 

I sigh, letting Marco hug me. God, this weekend is going to be longer than I thought it would be. 

I hold my breath for as long as I can until I have to exhale before passing out. “Alright,” I mutter, “Let’s go.” Marco kisses me on the forehead and smiles at me like a dork. “But we’re going to get fire noodles when we get home so I can see you make as big of a fool of yourself as I just did.” 

Marco scoffs lacing his fingers into mine as we start walking to the front door of the cabin. “I mean, sure, but I’m pretty sure it’s going to take more than fire noodles to make me look that stupid.”

I shove his shoulder without letting go of his hand. “I hate you.” 

He hums, “I love you.” 

I grump as I drag a step behind him. “I love you too,” I mumble into his shoulder. 

Our steps crunch as we step up the gravel walkway to the front door. I subconsciously glare at every Halloween decoration in sight. I’m fucking stupid. I can’t believe myself, honestly. At least it was only in front of Marco. I have a reputation to keep with everyone else. 

Marco stops at the front door and glances at me. “Ready?” 

I sigh, “Yeah, whatever.” 

He smiles, bending to kiss me, really kiss me, because it’ll be awhile before we can do this again without a peanut gallery of gushing commentary. Idiots, I say, we’re surrounded by idiots. 

Marco pulls away looking down at me with eyes swimming in infatuation. God what am I going to do with this beautiful dork. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Bodt, we’re here on business,” I say with a trick of my eyebrow. 

He pouts, “Business and no pleasure?” 

“Not until Bert and Reiner wake everyone else up first,” I say lacing my fingers under his shirt to brush at the low curve of his spine. 

He smiles with a tilt to his chin. “Not long then, deal.” 

He opens the front door without knocking as we both expect everyone who’s here is probably already half drunk and/or high.

“Hey-o,”Marco calls as we enter the warm cabin. A chorus of cheers echo from the living room. I follow Marco into the house with a squeeze of his ass before I close the door. He bats my hand away and goes to the living room where everyone is congregated. 

Most of the crew is here and, as expected, scattered beer bottles and wine glasses line the large, circular coffee table in the middle of the living room. Leather couches surround the coffee tables, a couple of bean bags too, and even a hanging chair dangles closer to the white stone fireplace that’s the grand centerpiece of the cabin. 

This isn’t some Lincoln Log shack of a cabin that you’d imagine. The Jaeger’s are loaded. They also have a thing for the outdoors and nature. They like hiking and boating and hunting and shit like that. They poured as much money as they could into this place. It’s more impressive than their actual house. Eren’s family stay at the cabin every summer for months. They love this place. Well, they loved this place. 

Reiner’s the first to stand and swallow Marco in a hug. It’s comical how muscular Reiner is, like, Marco’s not a small guy but Reiner makes him look like a stick. 

Speaking of sticks, Berthold stands behind Reiner and follows to give Marco a hug as well. The couple then walk to me. I wince a smile back at Reiners dopey face. 

“Jean, my man,” he says as he sticks a hand out for a handshake. They know better than to give me hugs. I’m not a hugs type of guy. Marco is just special, okay. I return Reiner’s handshake. He shakes his head once looking at me. “You get more and more tattoos everytime I see you.” 

“You sound like my mom,” I say. 

He laughs, “I get that a lot.” 

I scrunch my face in confusion as Reiner turns, ignoring me, and collapses back into his seat to stick a beer bottle back into his face. 

Bert sticks his hand out to me in similar fashion to his boyfriend but with a thin, fake smile on his face. “Jean,” he says. 

I nod, shaking his hand. “Bert,” I reply. A simple man with little to say, I like Bert.

Marco goes around greeting everyone, giving them all hugs and saying stupid things that they all like to hear.

“Historia, you look gorgeous, how do you always look gorgeous?” 

“Ymir, stubborn as always, it’s good to see you.” 

“Connie, you been working out?” 

“Sasha, have you taken my request to start eating more sweet potatoes?” 

The craziest thing is that Marco actually means these things. Genuine dork. I pause for a moment thinking of why he doesn’t say those nice things to me anymore. Hm, fucker.

I cross the living room to where Connie and Sasha are sitting, ignoring Historia and Ymir entirely, and plopping on the couch next to my favorite Potato Girl. 

“Jeannie boy! You came!” Sasha squeals as I sit next to her, she throws her arms around my neck and squeezes. She smells like chocolate and wine. I glance at the accumulation of ho-ho wrappers on the coffee table. She lowers her voice and leans towards my ear. “I thought you might not come.” 

I shrug, “What can I say, Golden Boy can be quite persuasive.” 

Connie’s face scrunches, “Gross.” 

I roll my eyes. Sasha ignores her right hand man and tugs me on the sleeve.

“How's the apartment? You haven’t invited us over, I feel like you’re still illegally living in Marco’s dorm without telling me.” 

“I swear we’re moved out. And it’s good, really good.” I pause thinking of how much work it took Marco and I to move in together. How many fights that happened with my family. How many hours I worked at the tattoo parlor to get deposit money. How many times we calculated Marco’s schooling out with rent payments. It was a nightmare. But then I think of how Marco and I can do literally whatever we want whenever we want. We play video games until 2am, we make two dinners some nights, we fall asleep watching movies, we stubble home from bars without having to sneak anywhere, we don’t have to worry about being too loud. We’re happy.

God, we’ve fucked in every corner of the place and we aren’t even completely unpacked yet. 

I clear my throat. “But yeah, we just haven’t gotten the place to how we want it before we start inviting people over. You guys will be the first to know.” 

“We can just help you unpack, we’ll have an unpacking party,” Sasha says picking up her glass of red wine and taking a larger gulp than normal people would. 

Connie scoffs. “That sounds laaaame.” 

“Well you’re not invited,” Sasha says without looking at our obnoxious bald friends behind her. 

“What are you guys doing anyway? Bumming around smoking until your brains stink?” I say with a cocky grin. 

Sasha gives me a secret look of disappointment and a hidden gesture at Connie behind her. Connie notices and pinches her shoulder. 

“I wish, but at least we’re going to Brazil next month,” Connie says. 

“Brazil? What’s in Brazil?” I ask. 

“Beaches and food,” Sasha says with a proud smile. 

Connie nods. I shake my head. I can’t believe these two live their lives out of their apartment saving money to go on amazing trips every 6 months. Marco and I could do that if he didn’t want to be a doctor. Damn Golden Boy. 

“You guys are ridiculous,” I say crossing my arms and leaning back into the couch. 

“You’re just jealous,” Connie says with a wink. I recoil in disgust. 

“I’m jealous,” Marco says as he steps over while handing me an opened beer without having asked me if I wanted one. My chest fills with butterflies and rainbows and shit. He sits next to me resting a hand on my thigh and easily joining the conversation. 

“Just drop out of med school,” Connie reasons. 

“Oh right right, yeah med school is no big deal,” Marco says sarcastically. 

I interject feeling the need to support my man suddenly. “Hey one day, you’ll be a doctor and I’ll be a loving husband that makes you dinner when you get home and we go to Paris on the weekends in our private jet, and then you’ll be jealous, Con-Man,” I say pretending like it’s no big deal to talk about being Marco’s husband one day. 

Connie rolls his eyes. Marco’s hand squeezes my thigh and I feel a sense of pride all the sudden. Marco’s husband, that’s me, not too long in the future. 

“Would anyone eat brownies if I made them?” Reiner asks as he stands and crushes a beer can in his hand. 

“Duh,” Connie says picking up a corndog from out of nowhere and lobbing off the top. “Wait, are they pot brownies?” 

“Do you have to get high everyday?” Reiner asks with a tilt to his head and almost real concern on his face. 

“Yes, next question,” Connie says confidently. “Plus, this weekend is even more important because it’s the only time Marco will smoke.” 

Everyone turns to my boyfriend and Marco’s face goes red. “I did it like once a couple of years ago.” 

“And now it’s tradition,” Connie says. “We have to makes sure that Golden Boy is still human sometimes.” 

“Whatever,” Marco mutters with a small smile. “How bout a card game, anybody?” 

“I’m in,” Sasha says, “But Reiner when you’re done mixing the brownie batter can you give me the spatula?”

Reiner smiles down at Sasha and winks, “I got you girl.” He then turns to start cooking in the kitchen and Bert follows suit. 

“Babe, you in?” Marco asks as he goes to fish for his card deck in his backpack. I nod start clearing space on the coffee table for the game. “Connie? Ymir? Historia?” 

Connie props his feet up on the couch with his arm behind his head. “Nah but I’ll watch?” 

“You mean cheat?” I say glancing at the infamous pair of heathens. 

“Maybe, you scared?” Connie mocks with a smirk. I laugh and shake my head.

“No thanks, we’ll watch though,” Historia says to Marco. Which means, “We don’t want to play and we’re going to sit here and make out for the rest of the night.” 

“No problem,” Marco says as he sits down on the floor next to me in front of the cleared space. He starts shuffling cards and dealing them out as he repeats the instructions of the game to Sasha. 

I nudge his shoulder. “You know I’ll beat Connie up for you, if you want,” I say knowing he’s directly behind us.

“Me too,” Sasha says as she organizes her cards. 

“Please don’t,” Connie says. 

“Just you wait,” I mutter as we begin the game. It’s amazing as time flies and three rounds go by without being interrupted. I’m only pulled back to my surroundings when I hear the front door open. 

“Hey, everyone!” Armin’s voice comes from the front door. The couple of blondes join us in the living room. Armin waves to everyone with a kind smile, Annie stands beside him looking bored. 

The four of us sitting on the floor playing our game spare a sliver of our focus to spare a bland, “Hey.”

Bert and Reiner greet the pair from the kitchen and Reiner makes a boner comment at Annie. I ignore it knowing that Reiner probably only going to get beat up for it. It’s not the first or the last time it’ll ever happen. 

“Has anybody seen Eren?” Armin asks as Marco slams down his last card and shouts, “Out!” Sasha groans collapsing back onto the couch as she drops her remaining cards in her face. 

“Why is Marco good at every card game?” she whines at the ceiling. 

Connie scoffs from his position on the couch above her. “Try beating him at soccer, you’ll die.” 

I ignore the pair and their ignorance of how perfect my boyfriend is, although, I’ll admit, it does get annoying sometimes but at least I know a few of his weaknesses. I keep half of my focus on Armin and this weird energy around him. He seems pretty uneasy. I like to think of Armin as a flight attendant. You know everything is okay when there’s something going on in a plane and the flight attendants seem unbothered by it, but you know you're fucked as soon as they start to worry. I think Armin is the most intune with all the people in our friend group. If something’s wrong, Armin’s the first to know. Additionally, Eren and Mikasa have kind of been MIA since at least Marco and I have gotten here. I wonder what they’re doing. 

And like some damn triplet magic, Eren and Mikasa pop out of nowhere to greet his not-so-secret favorite person. I decide that the Big Three’s problems are nothing I should concern myself with and notice Reiner and Bert chowing down on some brownies straight from the pan. 

“Yo,” I call at the two, Reiner looks up at me, “gimme one of those.” 

“Me too!” Sasha says perking up from the couch.

“The brownies are done, thank fuck,” Connie says rolling over too. Reiner sighs, almost as if he forgot that he offered everyone brownies and sends the pan down. Marco prepares for another round of the game as Eren calls out to Sasha if she wants some popcorn. Of course, Sasha says yes.

Eren leans over the coffee table to hand the bowl of popcorn to eternally hungry Sasha and finally acknowledges me. But all he does is makes eye contact with me, pauses, lets a hint of a grin twist his lips, then proceeds to look at the rest of us. God, just the sight of him makes me feel the need to punch something sometimes. I don’t think Marco understands how difficult it really will be for me to be nice. I’ll just have to get as doped up as possible.

Thankfully, Eren shares the same mindset as he sits on the floor next to Reiner and asks, “So who brought weed.”


	2. Watch Your Back (Armin POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **written by: thesketchytepe**

6:11 PM 

“Ugh, what the hell.”

Armin didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there on the bedroom floor, trying to unzip an old black backpack of his from high school (it wasn’t damaged nor too terribly worn out, so he decided to keep it for travelling and overnight events). The zipper kept getting caught in the rough fabric and his bony fingers shook too much to untangle it. So there he sat, his heart pumping, his hands shaking, his vision going blurry with suspicion and fear.

Annie eventually came over, crouched down, and undid the mess he created, swiftly and silently, just like with everything else she did. Armin huffed but thanked her. She stood back up and paused before brushing the back of her finger across his cheekbone and tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, her attempt at comforting him. She walked away and he wished she hadn’t.

“You okay?” he heard her mumble as she shrugged into an oversized hoodie. It wasn’t a question; she knew that he wasn’t and this was her way of opening up this can of worms.

He got up from the floor and opened the closet beside him. He threw a pair of jeans and two shirts in the backpack, not really paying attention to what exactly he was throwing in there.

“I don’t feel great about this whole idea,” he muttered into the closet, his vision going blurry again. He thought about Eren and the past year, everything that happened, everything he saw and felt. What was etched into the back of his mind like an ancient cave drawing, however, was that cardboard box he found underneath Eren’s bed. He remembered fishing through it and feeling a sense of dread wash over him as if a bucket of icy cold water poured over his head. It was so horrible; he never felt anything like it before.

“We don’t have to go, you know,” Annie said matter-of-factly. “If you’re this worried about it—”

“No.”

He looked back at her. She was standing by the window with her arms crossed and her weight balanced on one foot. It was clear that she was set to drop everything and forget that text Eren sent out in the group chat and, as much as Armin wanted to do the same thing, he couldn’t bring himself to.

“We have to go. We just have to.”

He set his backpack on the bed and zipped it back up (which worked the first time around). “You think something’s gonna happen?” Annie prompted. 

Again, she knew Armin’s skepticisms; she wanted him to say it aloud as if the situation at hand would become more real if he did that.

“I don’t think this friendly little gathering is going to turn up well.”

And then it worked. Saying his worries aloud made them real, accurate, a good reason to panic. With wide eyes, he stared into space and muttered under his breath, “I think Eren might do something. I think Mikasa won’t stop him—she knows it’s wrong, but she’s too blind to see another way. I think if we don’t go, something will go terribly wrong. We have to go.”

His eyes shot up toward Annie’s, but instead of seeing her sky-blue orbs, he saw that box underneath Eren’s bed.

He hurried toward her and grabbed her shoulders. “You have to stay right next to me the entire time,” he said in a low panic as if Eren himself were in the room. “Alright? You don’t go too far without me by your side.”

It was moments like this when Annie was vastly different from Mikasa. They were similar in many ways: they were expressionless most of the time, physically capable of bringing down men twice their size, they didn’t speak often, they didn’t really care for authority. But Mikasa would bend over backwards to please Eren and Armin. On the rare occasion when Armin told Annie to do or not do something without him nearby, she got pissed and usually deliberately disobeyed him. She hated being told what to do and, if she thought he deserved it, would let Armin suffer the consequences of his own actions. Maybe that was why he first became attracted to her—Mikasa was his friend, but she was also a suffocator. Annie gave him so much freedom and space that he didn’t know what to do with all of it.

As expected, she narrowed her eyes at him. She also knew she could handle herself just fine and didn’t want anyone hovering over everything she did. A shaky sigh escaped him as he tenderly placed his hands on either side of her face.

“Please, Annie. I know you don’t like it, but I need you to promise me this. I would blame myself if anything happened to you this weekend. We don’t know exactly what Eren will do; he—he could do anything. You know what he’s capable of.” His eyes began to burn, and his voice started to crack. “Please, please, please don’t leave my side. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Her hard gaze began to slowly melt like an icy road on a sunny day. She exhaled heavily as she slowly ran her hand up and down his arm, her gentle touch easing the goosebumps rising on his limb. She stared at him longer, her own gears cranking away in her mind.

“I promise,” she finally whispered.

A huge weight lifted from his shoulders and he sighed in relief at the sensation. He kissed her lips, her chin, her nose, and her forehead, leaving breathy “Thank you”s on her skin as he did so. He hugged her tightly, swaying from side to side. He felt a hesitant hand on his shoulder blade.

“But I’m going to bring a gun,” she added.

The weight settled on his back again. He leaned back, his hands gripping Annie’s elbows. “A gun?”

She nodded.

“W-Why? What kind of gun?”

Her eyes glanced to the side. “Probably that pistol I keep in the dresser.”

He knew what she was talking about. In the last drawer on the right underneath a grey beanie, black gloves, and a dark blue scarf was an unloaded pistol with a small box of bullets tucked in right beside it. Annie got it shortly after she joined the police academy about a year ago. There were several exercises she had to do that involved guns: knowing different types, how to use them, what to do if someone else had one. She said she preferred using pistols because they were easier to use and were small enough to hide away. Armin didn’t like the idea of keeping a gun in the house but knew why Annie insisted on it.

She looked back at him. “You’re convinced Eren’s going to do something, right?”

He didn’t answer her.

“Then what’s stopping us from being prepared for it? I won’t use it until he actually does something, but it’s better to be safe than sorry in this case.” She frowned. “I don’t have a good feeling about this either, so we can’t just walk in there empty-handed, knowing that something’s going to happen. We have to be ready for it.”

She was right. It made perfect sense, and most would bring some sort of weapon to a fight they knew was inevitable. But it still didn’t stop Armin’s gut from twisting at the thought of it all.

“But…a gun?” he whimpered.

She rolled her eyes. “How about my hunting knife? The one with the red handle?”

He grimaced.

“Armin, it’s either the gun or the knife. Your choice.”

He let go of her arms and ran his hands through his hair, gripping his head to keep it from exploding. Okay, fine, he lectured himself. What would be less noticeable? Cause less noise? Less dangerous? This is something I’d never thought I’d have to think about.

His gaze met Annie’s impatient one. He stalled for as long as he could before mumbling out, “The knife.”

Without another word, she brushed pass him and exited the bedroom. He stared at the vacant doorway until she came back. She flicked open the knife—which was about half a foot long and void of any stains made from the occasional hunting trips she’d take with Reiner and Berthold—and closed it back up. She shoved it in her back pocket and then adjusted her baggy hoodie over it, so that it was less obvious that she had a knife on her.

She looked up at him. Her eyes were calm, level, focused. She nodded once, saying Everything’s going to be okay. He swallowed and nodded back but didn’t say anything more. He trusted her, definitely, but weapons in general made him uneasy. Yet, if anyone should have one on them for whatever reason, he’d be the most comfortable with Annie. She was training to be a police officer, after all--more specifically to be a part of the Criminal Investigation Unit, where she could investigate crime scenes and find missing persons. Although one couldn’t really see it, she was passionate about her work and fought through it until the end. He admired her for going after her dream; he was happy to be a part of it too. 

Armin was going for a PhD in history (military history to be exact) and, with their conflicting schedules, it could be difficult to see one another, much less actually do something together. Armin had a full time job at the local library while balancing a full time schedule at school; Annie’s schedule was supposed to be consistent like Armin’s but sometimes exercises ran longer or she stayed behind to get more work done, never really a fan of bringing it home to do it. They both excelled in doing what they did, however--Armin was to be a teaching assistant in the spring and Annie was at the top of her class, job opportunities constantly knocking on their front door. 

Long story short, Armin much preferred sitting at a desk and learning about weapons rather than actually using them while Annie liked being in the moment of it all, moving around and getting things done. Armin knew he could trust Annie with the knife and that she’d only use it when necessary. She was trained on how to win a battle and he was trained on how to stop a war. 

\---

He was painfully aware of the knife stuck in Annie’s pocket as they strolled through the old cabin door.

The many cars crowding outside and the loud laughter coming from the wooden structure told them that Armin and Annie were the last ones to arrive. Annie walked ahead of him and gave his hand a little squeeze before opening the door. Historia and Ymir were seated on the couch on the other side of the room, red solo cups in their hands as they smiled and pecked at each other’s cheeks. Connie was watching Jean, Marco, and Sasha play a card game, although he was much more interested in the corn dog in his mouth. Reiner rounded a corner—he had a tray of some dark treats in his hands and set them down on the coffee table in front of the card players. Out of the corner of his eye, Armin saw Berthold with giant green gloves on his hands, closing the oven door and then turning to something boiling on the stove. 

“Hey, everyone!” Armin called out into the room, waving a hand in the air. He tried to swallow down the nervousness in his tone and plastered on a smile. 

A low but loud “Heyyy” came from Sasha, Marco, and Jean, clearly more invested in their fast-moving game. Connie peeked up and waved his half-eaten corn dog in the air. “Hey, guys!” Berthold called from the kitchen. Reiner also looked up and cracked a grin. 

“Hey, blondies!” he called. “It’s about time you showed up. I was wondering how long it was gonna take for Annie’s boner to pop.”

“Shut the hell up, Reiner,” Annie growled, making her way towards him as if she were preparing to beat him up.

Berthold, coming out of nowhere, jumped in front of them. “Hey, Annie! How are you doing?” he said a little too cheerfully, hugging her tiny form, probably worried about the same thing.

Annie stood there, letting Berthold hold her with his big green oven mitts while Reiner wiggled his eyebrows at her over his shoulder. She moved subtly but swiftly, and the next thing Armin knew, Reiner’s eyes widened in pain as he hopped around, gripping his left foot.

Armin inched forward after dropping his bag by the others cluttered around the front door. He scratched the back of his neck and asked out into the open, “Uh, has anybody seen Eren?”

“Out!” Marco yelled suddenly, slamming his final blow onto the growing pile of cards on the coffee table. 

Sasha groaned in frustration as she sank into her seat, muttering about Marco’s magical ability to win every game ever. 

Armin then spotted the familiar head of messy brown locks poke out from around the corner. A wide smile spread across his face as he jogged over to him, a soda in his hand.

“There you are, Armin!” Eren said through his smile, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You’re late. Everything alright?”

Armin conjured every little ounce of courage from within and smiled back. “Hi, Eren. No, yeah, everything’s great. I just forgot my phone at home, so we had to turn around.”

“Oh, okay, gotcha. I know it’s been, like, a week since I last saw you, but I’m glad you and Annie were able to come. It means a lot.”

“No problem. You know we’re here for you.”

“Yeah, I know. Still, thanks for everything.”

As Eren’s hand slipped from his shoulder, Armin looked at the seemingly genuine smile that graced his lips. God, he never wanted to be wrong so bad in his life. Hopefully this was some huge misunderstanding and Armin was freaking out over nothing; maybe Eren really just wanted his friends around, to share some jokes and exchange some drinks. After all, he was looking at him right now just like how he always had—his vibrant hazel eyes sparkled in interest and his thin lips were tilted crookedly like he had something snarky to say. Eren couldn’t have done any of those things, right? He was so invested in his and Mikasa’s well-being and he cared deeply for his friends. He wasn’t like that at all.

But what about that box?

“Hi, Armin.”

He recognized the quiet tone Mikasa possessed and saw her silky black hair come into view. A small smile cracked her porcelain skin as she squeezed his arm. He noticed right away that her grasp on him wasn’t light or hesitant like it usually was. Instead, it was tight and it kind of hurt. It was like that time when Armin went on a trip to Berlin for a study abroad program and he was telling Eren and Mikasa goodbye. Mikasa’s hold on him was long and very painful as if she were afraid it was the last time she’d ever see him.

“Hey, Mikasa,” Armin breathed through the tense grasp.

“Are you hungry? We made some food earlier.”

“Uh, maybe later. Annie and I had dinner not too long ago.”

“Where were you? We were beginning to worry.”

“It’s fine. I just…”

He suddenly felt claustrophobic. Mikasa was leaning toward him like the concerned mother bear she was and Eren wouldn’t stop staring at him. He swallowed, trying to keep it all together, his heart thumping against his chest like a jackhammer.

Just then did a familiar pair of arms wrap around his stomach and a comforting presence lean against his spine, her pointy chin digging into his shoulder blade. He exhaled deeply and patted Annie’s hands, thankful for her promise and her calm aura.

“We just forgot something halfway is all,” he finished.

He caught Mikasa’s gaze drift to the side and then take a hesitant step back. Despite the intimidating circumstances, Armin smirked, imaging the death glare Annie was sending over his shoulder right now.

“Hey, Annie,” Eren greeted. “What’s up? Beat anyone up at the police academy yet?”

“Only in my dreams,” she mumbled into Armin’s jacket.

Eren chuckled. He then pushed the soda can he was holding into Armin’s hand.

“Here, hold this. I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared around the corner again but was quick to return. He carried a large red bowl in his hands. Buttery popcorn was filled to the brim; he offered it to Annie specifically.

“I made some popcorn if you’d like some. Armin told me once that you ate, like, a huge bucket of the stuff by yourself when you guys saw a movie together.”

A sudden and very sharp pain shot through Armin’s stomach as Annie’s arms tightened significantly around his waist. He gasped and tried prying her fingers apart, wiggling like a helpless maggot in her grasp.

“Shit, Annie, stop,” he pleaded in a strangled whisper. It was like stabbing a handful of needles into his sides.

She finally let him go and he stumbled forward, nearly knocking into Mikasa along the way. He caught her throwing a nasty glare Annie’s way, but he didn’t have enough air in his lungs to tell her that he was fine.

“No, thanks,” Annie muttered, stuffing her hands into her hoodie pocket as if she didn’t just try to squeeze the life out of her boyfriend.

Eren snorted at her monotone answer but shrugged it off. “Whatever, your loss. I know Sasha will openly pig out on the stuff anyway.”

He spun around and then raised the bowl over his head. “Hey, Sash! Want some popcorn?”

Sasha halted from slapping a card down onto the coffee table and raised her arms over her head as well. “You know I’m a slut for popcorn!”

Eren moved pass Reiner and Berthold (who were now sitting on the couch, munching on Reiner’s brownies) and gave the bowl to Sasha. She immediately went to town with it, grabbing it by the handful and shoving it down her throat as she continued shifting through her cards, Connie constantly peeking over her shoulder and breaking Sasha’s poker face for her. Mikasa then followed Eren into the living room to sit down in one of the surrounding bean bags.

“So,” Eren asked nonchalantly, “who brought the weed?” 

“Shit, can you still smell it?” Connie whined as he started rubbing his shirt together as if that would get rid of the stench. 

Armin rubbed his stomach and looked at Annie. She gave him a side glance and mumbled in an incredibly low voice that he had to strain his neck forward in order to hear her: “Don’t eat anything here unless it’s sealed.”

He peered down at the opened soda can in his hand. He tried not to look at that giant bowl of popcorn Sasha was munching on as he carefully set the can on a nearby mantel. He inhaled, paused, and then exhaled.

Here it goes.


	3. Put on a Happy Face (Reiner POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **written by: blueTshirts**

8:18 PM 

“Do you even know how long a horse dick is?” Jean says as he glares at Connie for making another horse joke. 

“Do you even know how long my dick is?” Connie replies, taking a hit from the joint we’ve been passing around. Sasha starts to giggle from the floor and Connie points at her. “Don’t answer that.” 

Everyone starts laughing and Connie shuts up in defeat and passes the blunt to Jean beside him. I lean back into the leather couch feeling a nice weightlessness that comes with a subtle high. I still feel pretty self aware as of now but I’d made Bert to promise before coming here to not let me get too far into the booze or the grass. I don’t want this weekend to turn into a sob session. I’m constantly worried whenever someone asks how I am. 

“So Reiner,” Armin says from his position on the floor next to Annie. He’s completely sober; he hasn’t even looked at a beer since he got here, and neither has Annie. It’s a little odd. “How’s the gym? Still enjoying it?”

My heart sinks. You mean, how’s life been since I impulsively dropped out of college and started working full time at the same gym I’ve worked at my entire life? And how I’m worried that I’ve wasted my life because I have no goals and that possibly the only good thing in my life, Berthold, might leave me once he realizes that I’m a complete piece of shit? Honestly, I’ve had better days. “Good, pretty good, just kind of same ol’,” I say nonchalantly. Haha, no depression here. “How bout you? Still nose deep in the books?” 

Armin kind of laughs, “Yeah, it’s been pretty cool, but mostly busy, I barely sleep enough in a day.” 

“Yeah, I hear ya,” I mumble hoping someone picks up the conversation for me. Bert massages my shoulder gently with his arm resting on the back of the couch. As much as my fucked up mind is telling me that I don’t deserve someone so sweet, so thoughtful, so intelligent, and so considerate, at least Bert is there to tell me that I’m wrong. No matter how many times I make him say it, Berthold never seems to get tired of telling me that he loves me and that he’s never leaving me. 

All I have to do is try to believe him. 

“Are you still working at the library?” Marco asks thankfully. 

“Yeah,” Armin says, “I love it, it’s honestly amazing.” 

“Man, I bet you I’d be rich if I got paid for being at the library, I think those books see me more than Jean does,” Marco says. 

“True,” Jean grunts. 

“I mean, at least you guys are still in school,” Eren says jokingly. Although, no one laughs. We all know Eren had to drop out of school after his brother’s arrest. Eren was in Pre Med like Marco, he was excited. We were all excited to start college after High School, and boy has that changed. 

“Any thoughts of going back?” Marco asks Eren. The room remains silent. The blunt is passed along until it gets to Eren. 

He shrugs. “I don’t know, the public image of the Jaeger name isn’t great. I can barely go to a movie without someone asking if I’m related to Zeke.” 

My worry about anyone finding out that I’m miserable at the moment turns to guilt. Eren has been through so much this year. He’s lost almost everything, and yet he’s still trying. I feel almost pathetic being in the same room with him. 

“And how is the case going?” Marco asks. The tension in the room rises and we all make panicked glances at each other. 

Mikasa jumps in to protect Eren. “You don’t have to answer that.” 

Marco backtracks, “Yeah, sorry, I don’t mean to budge and you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. It’s just, you don’t have to be alone in this, we’re here for you.” 

“He’s not alone,” Mikasa says blatantly glaring at Marco. Jean sits up and glares back at Mikasa. It’s like they’re a gang of wolves. Marco continues to try and dissolve the conflict. 

“I didn’t mean that, I just thought-”

“Maybe we should just drop this,” Armin says looking like he wants to throw up. 

Eren takes a deep hit off the blunt and flicks ashes onto the floor. “It’s fine guys, I know you’re all probably wondering.” 

“You don’t have to prove any-” Mikasa starts before Eren cuts her off.

“It’s fine, you guys are my friends, you deserve to know,” he says, “But yeah, I mean it was relatively quick trial which I’m sure you guys already know,   
Zeke is obviously guilty, he confessed, but now all we’re waiting for to see what kind of penalty he’s getting.”

“Life or death,” Jean states. Eren looks up at him, challenge in his eyes. 

“Yea, Horse Face, they’re deciding if they want Zeke in prison for the rest of his life or if they’d rather have him dead.” 

The room remains quiet. Awkwardly quiet. Mikasa and Eren sit next to each other. Eren in a bean bag chair and Mikasa on the floor beside him with a pillow in her lap. If their relationship wasn’t awkward before, I have no idea what to call it now. Before the craziness of Zeke’s trial, Eren and Mikasa were trying to figure themselves out as a couple. They were almost dating? I have no idea how it works. But it’s weird. And now Mikasa is more like a guard dog rather than a girlfriend. I swear if you look at Eren wrong she starts seething. Each interaction between the two of them seems forced or superficial, as if they’re constantly talking in code to each other. I wish I could read minds.

“Don’t they usually go easier on people that plead guilty?” Sasha asks. 

“Yeah, but it also depends on the public’s opinion of him,” Eren sighs, “If they want him dead then they aren’t going to be happy until he is, and at this point, I’m pretty sure they want him dead.” 

Another silence.   
To be fair, I can understand why the city thinks Zeke is a crazy motherfucker that needs to be removed quickly. I mean, the guy thought he was doing good for the world. He started off by him and Eren’s father because he blamed him for the death of Zeke’s step mom/Eren’s real mom. But Carla died of an illness, that’s it. I don’t know why he wanted Grisha to be responsible. And after that he decided to take out a bunch of other doctor that he thought were corrupt. 

The guy is whack.   
It’s odd to see how serious people can get with the death penalty, though. I guess most people see life as something more valuable than I do. At this point, I would prefer death than to have to face my family again, or make Berthold stay with me for another six months, or sit here in this room with my successful friends and feel like a complete waste for much longer. It’s just easier that way. It’s nicer that way. 

“Don’t worry, man, we’ve got your back no matter what happens,” I say hoping to at least help Eren a bit. He at least smiles and nods at me. 

“Thanks man,” he says softly. “Yelp, that’s enough depression talk for a day, you guys want to watch a movie or something?” 

A unanimous, “sure,” hums through the air and everyone starts pitching movie ideas. After some decent arguing, we end up choosing an Avengers movie that keeps everyone somewhat satisfied. 

I’m thankful for the distraction. We don’t have to talk any longer, no one has to worry about each other, and there’s no more painful tension in this   
cabin. We can all make simultaneous lustful remarks every time Captain America comes on screen. 

Half way through the movie, I get distracted by the overly touchy couple on the couch beside me and Bert. I mean, I thought us two were touchy, but no, Ymir and Historia take the cake. I shove Ymir’s calf with my foot to get her to surface for some air and glare at me. 

“Get a room, homos,” I say with a smirk. 

“Fuck off, Meathead,” Ymir hisses and returns to her blonde girlfriend. 

I shove her leg again. She glares up at me another time, although this time she looks like an angry bear. 

“I’m only going to keep bothering you, you’re distracting me.” 

“You’re a child,” she growls. 

“Leave them alone Reiner, I wouldn’t mess with them if I were you,” Armin says from across the living room. 

I stick out a fake pouting lip. “Aw, is the big bad Ymir gonna fight me?” I smirk, “I’m not scared.” 

“You little-” Ymir starts.

Eren hops in. “You know there’s a barn back in the woods that my parents fixed up.” Everyone looks over at Eren. “Y’know, for like, privacy.” 

“Oooh, a Love Barn,” Connie sings into his tenth corn dog. 

“Shut up Connie, you don’t even like sex,” Jean scoffs. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t make fun of you for it,” Connie insists. 

Eren ignores Connie. “You guys are welcomed to it if you want. There’s a heating unit that still works.” 

Ymir glares back at me and then looks at Historia who shrugs. 

“Sounds good to me.” Ymir and Historia stand and climb over all of our sprawled bodies to leave the living room. 

“To the Love Barn!” Connie calls after them having no interest in them except to make them uncomfortable. A few of the crew laugh. 

Ymir sighs loudly and mutters, “Anything to get away from you fucks.” 

Historia pats Erens shoulder as she passes him saying, “Thanks, we’ll be back soon.” 

“Don’t be too loud or the bears will come for you!” Connie calls again. 

“Aren’t bears going into hibernation right now?” Sasha asks as she munches on some popcorn. 

“Not if they’re awoken by the Love Barn!” Connie yells even louder. 

“Shut the fuck up Baldy!” Ymir shouts with a slam of the back door. Everyone erupts with laughter after the two have gone. 

Only a moment of silence passes when I say, “Dibs on the Love Barn next.”


	4. In the Darkness (Ymir POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **written by: thesketchytepe**

10:37 PM 

“’Get a room, you homos?’” Ymir spat as she slammed the door behind them. “Uh, you’re kidding me, right? Whenever we get together with them, Reiner and Berthold are always the first ones to shove each other’s hands down their pants in front of everyone. Don’t even get me started at the noise—it’s like two walruses fighting over a fishbone.”

Historia skipped down the steps. “Did Reiner seem okay to you? He was a little quieter than usual.”

“Like I fucking care if he’s okay. He was probably in the middle of some inner soliloquy, wondering if he should kill himself or not. Geez, Hamlet much?”

“Ymir, don’t be so harsh.”

She rolled her eyes and grumbled as her hand instinctively wrapped around Historia’s, her long legs easily keeping up with Historia’s bouncing ones. It was now completely dark outside; singing crickets accompanied the crunching of leaves underneath their boots as they strolled through the dense woods   
around them. A chilly breeze whipped through the air, fluttering Ymir’s long bangs in her eyes.

“Maybe we should’ve been more considerate of our surroundings,” Historia mumbled to the floor. “This visit isn’t about us anyway, you know. We’re supposed to be here for Eren.”

“But we haven’t had time with each other in forever. We haven’t had sex in, like, months. We never have time to do anything.”

Historia was well into her business degree at college—she piled so many classes on top of her schedule in hopes of graduating early so that she and Ymir could take that Europe trip they’d been planning and saving for years. She spent all day at school attending lectures, working at the university’s bookstore, and studying at every chance she got. Ymir saw no point in school and instead took a variety of odd jobs to raise money for that summer-long trip. She worked as a bartender at the local pub, controlled the giant saw at a warehouse for a lumber business, and, every once in a while, was a truck driver for transporting inventory to various retail stores. She sometimes had to leave the state for those and could be gone for up to a week before she saw Historia again. Those were always the longest and hardest days she had to go through.

“I know and you work really hard all the time.” She squeezed her hand and smiled up at her. “Thank you for everything you’re doing. It’ll all be worth it in the end, I promise.”

Though the darkness was beginning to mask everything, she could still see Historia’s golden hair and bright blue eyes and shining white skin. She was a literal goddess and anyone who thought otherwise was obviously blind.

Ymir grinded her teeth and leaned down to nibble at Historia’s ear. “Goddammit, you’re so fucking adorable.”

She giggled and lightly pushed her away. “No, stop. I have my earrings in.”

As they wandered through the woods, Historia talked about her upcoming midterms and Ymir complained about her idiot coworkers. But the Europe trip quickly outshined those two boring topics. Historia mentioned all the places she wanted to visit—Paris, London, Florence, Madrid, St. Petersburg, basically the whole travel aesthetic on every white girl’s to-do list—and Ymir commented on all the alcoholic beverages she wanted to drink. On the top of their list, however, was to have a picnic right in front of the Eiffel Tower. There was an open field for people to sit and take pictures of the iconic romantic tourist site and Historia really wanted to take advantage of it. Ymir thought of it only a couple of weeks ago, but she planned to propose to her at that very spot. She actually found the perfect ring the other day whilst running errands at the mall. She chatted with the guy behind the counter and he agreed to put it on hold for her during the weekend. When this whole therapy session for Eren ended and Historia went back to school, Ymir would pick up her paycheck at the pub and then head straight to the fancy jewelry place to purchase that beautiful ring for her beautiful girl.

Nervous about the whole proposing thing, she accidentally slipped the secret to Sasha. The girl could get you to talk, in Ymir’s defense—she was so approachable and, in some ways, reminded her of Historia. Her bubbliness, friendly chatter, and big wondering eyes pried the plans out of Ymir.

“I’ll rip out your jaw if you mention this to anybody, even Connie,” she’d threatened, pointing a finger at her chest as if it were a dagger.

She zipped her lips shut and threw an imaginary key over her shoulder. “As if. Connie’s more oblivious than the dog. I won’t tell a single soul; I just want to help make this perfect!”

Sasha had sent her texts of all the things Historia liked and that she should bring to said picnic. Ymir already knew Historia’s love of daisies, white wine, and the color purple, but now she heavily considered Sasha’s suggestions. Where could she get the best white wine in France? How many bottles should she buy? Were purple daisies even a thing? The whole ordeal was growing more stressful with each passing day and she wasn’t sure if Sasha was even being helpful at this point or just making it worse.

All she wanted was for Historia to say yes.

Ymir groaned dramatically, hoping to send her worries out into the crisp autumn air and away into the trees. “How far away is this love barn anyway?”

She frowned at herself for using Connie’s coined term for Eren’s family barn.

Historia glanced up and peered into the blackness. “Oh, I think I see it.” She pointed ahead. “Is that it?”

Ymir stared until her vision adjusted to the tall dark structure several yards ahead. From what she could tell, it appeared like any other normal barn you’d see on a farm: short, square, and plain looking. Nothing special stood out about it, but it did look like one of the tiny windows adorned it was broken as if a baseball had flown through it.

“I guess,” Ymir mumbled. “Doesn’t look like a love barn though.”

“Just like with everything else, it’s the inside that counts.”

“Ew, what Hallmark movie did you just step out from?”

Historia laughed and their pace quickened a little. Ymir swung her hand as Historia began skipping again like the Disney princess she was. Her long hair brushed against Ymir’s leather jacket and she watched it sway to and fro.

And then a sickening snap echoed in the chorus of crickets as Historia’s hair fell forward, pulling Ymir’s hand down with her.

A blood-curdling scream escaped from Historia right before Ymir could trample onto the forest floor with her. Historia’s hand slipped like butter through her fingers and Ymir caught herself before falling face-first. She whipped around to find Historia lying on the crushed leaves, her sunshine hair splayed out around her. Her eyes fell on her feet to see what she tripped over. It was hard to see at first—it blended well with the dead leaves and darkness—but she eventually discovered two steel jaws locked onto her left calf, dark blood soaking her jeans.

Ymir dropped to the ground just as Historia screamed her name, tears thick in her throat. “Oh my fucking God, is that a bear trap?” she gasped at the sight. 

Steel teeth dug into Historia’s skin which were held back by two steel springs. She saw Historia’s navy blue sneaker pushed against a small metal pad. A chain was attached to the trap and ran deeper into the woods.

“Ymir!” Historia yelled again. “Get it off! It hurts, it hurts so bad!”

As her leg wiggled around in the machine, Ymir noticed the jaws sink deeper into her torn jeans, metal screeching against each other.

“Wait, wait! Try not to move!” Ymir shouted, gripping her leg. “It’ll get tighter the more you move!”

“But it hurts! Get it off!”

“Fuck…” Ymir whispered to herself. This was bad, this was very bad. More blood spurted from Historia’s leg like a crappy water sprinkler. It was like a steel monster had popped out of the ground and was dragging her Historia into its hellish hole, merciless and cruel. Historia was small, smaller than frail little Armin, and by the looks of it, if she kept moving or Ymir didn’t get this thing off soon, her leg would be drenched in blood and possibly chopped off.

“Ymir! Help me!”

“Okay, okay! I got you! Hold on!”

She gripped the sides of the steel jaws and tried prying them apart. But, holy shit, was this thing on tight. She grunted as she tugged and pulled, but it was all in vain; her fingers ached at all the strength she pushed into it.

“Shit!” she yelled at the trap.

She then went to the springs connected to the jaw. She wacked on it, shoved it, pulled, punched, pushed, did everything to those things, but nothing budged. She grabbed the chain beside it and yanked on that as well, hoping, praying to some higher power that it’d release its hold on Historia’s life.

“No, no, no!” She dropped it and looked frantically around her. Her eyes eventually fell on the barn and an idea began to piece itself together.

“Alright, I’m gonna go to the barn,” she told Historia, grabbing her shaking hands. “There has to be something in there to use to get you out. I promise I’ll be right back.”

A horrible look of despair fell across Historia’s features. Wet tears stained her cheeks and her big blue eyes were the size of dinner plates. “What? No! Please don’t leave me!”

“I have to, but it’d only be a second. I promise, Historia, I promise I’ll be right back.”

“B-But what about the others? Go get Reiner to get this thing off of me.”

“We’re closer to the barn than we are to the cabin. It’ll be quicker this way.”

Historia began to sob. “Ymir, please don’t. Please don’t leave me here! It’s dark and cold and my leg hurts so much.”

Ymir swallowed her own tears, trying her absolute best to calm both of them down. “I promise I’ll be right back.” She pressed a firm kiss to her knuckles. “I promise!”

As she untangled their grasp, Historia flailed her arms around, trying to hold onto Ymir while crying hysterically. “No, Ymir! Don’t leave me here! Please!”

She tried not to look back as she sprinted to the barn, the sound of Historia’s cries ripping her apart like a chainsaw.

In her mad dash to the barn, she tripped over her own foot but luckily caught herself before falling forward. What the absolute fuck! her mind screamed. What the fuck is a bear trap doing out here, in the middle of Jaeger’s woods? Bears are hibernating now! What is that thing trying to catch?

She threw her weight against the door and grabbed the rusty doorknob. She cursed when it immediately didn’t open; she wacked her shoulder against the wooden door twice before it finally creaked open. Inside was pure darkness; she stood frozen as she impatiently waited for her eyes to adjust to this new hellish void. It was one giant room with all sort of instruments hanging on the walls. She could see the vague shape of a lawnmower and a transformer tucked off to the right. Barrels of hay and giant piles of soil completely surrounded the room and it reeked of oil and rust.

Ymir squinted. What the hell? This is a literal barn. Why would Eren send us here if there’s nothing but farming equipment here?

She decided to ignore the question for now and wandered deeper into the barn. Her eyes focused on the long metal sticks on the walls and other oddly shaped tools. Could any of these unhitch a bear trap? She had no way of knowing, especially when she couldn’t see a damn thing.

Something light then brushed against her forehead; she snapped toward the air. She could dimly see a string hanging a few inches from her face and recede into the darkness above. A light switch—just what she needed.

She pinched the string and then yanked on it. A brilliant pain flashed through her fingers and set her body on fire. It blinded her, this unexpected fury, and shook her bones, fried her muscles, boiled her blood. It was so sudden that she barely had enough time to scream before the string slipped through her fingers and she landed on the floor with a hard thump.

The darkness once again swallowed her whole.


	5. Someone's Out There (Connie POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **written by: thesketchytepe**

10:51 PM 

All at once, the lights went out, the ceiling fan shut down, and the TV turned black.

A choir of low but surprised “Noooo” rang throughout the Jaeger cabin. Sasha reached out to the dead TV and cried a little louder than necessary, “No! Captain America’s ass! What happened to it?”

“Power’s out,” Eren stated the obvious.

“But how?” Reiner asked. “It’s not storming out there, is it?” He peered over at the nearest window only to find more darkness.

“Don’t know. I’ll go check it out.” Eren yawned loudly before standing up and stretching his arms high above his head. “Maybe a squirrel got into the circuit breaker or something. That happens a lot out here.”

“Noooo, poor squirrely,” Sasha whined into her pillow.

“Maybe we should take it home to Maximus,” Connie told Sasha. Maximus was their brown lab that they adopted not too long ago. He was known for ripping apart furniture, rolling around in mud, and he tried to eat his own shit on multiple accounts. 

Sasha wacked Connie’s face with her pillow.

“You need any help?” Marco offered from his spot on the couch, leaning against Jean’s chest.

“Nah, I got it. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes.”

“I’ll go with you.” Mikasa began to shift out of her yellow bean bag chair when Eren sighed and put a hand out in front of him.

“Mikasa, I’m fine. I got it. Just relax.”

She looked a little hurt by his rejection, but he then added for her sake, “I’ll text you if I need anything, alright?”

She hesitated but then nodded and settled back down.

“I’ll be back, y’all!” Eren called with a wave as he sauntered toward the front door.

“Save America’s ass, Eren!” Sasha yelled after him.

“I’ll make it my personal mission, Sash,” Eren chuckled.

Silence wafted over the group for the first time since the movie started and, as much as Connie didn’t really want to admit it, it was awkward. It shouldn’t be, right? They were all friends; they were really close with each other and usually were kept up to date on what was going on in everybody’s lives. But now that Eren—pretty much the sole reason why everyone was here—was gone, no one really knew what to say or do. Especially with Mikasa still in the room, Eren’s second and scarier half.

Connie cleared his throat and drummed his chapped lips together. I guess I didn’t take enough grass yet. I’m usually not aware of awkward silences this late.

“Hey, Sash.” He turned to her on the floor. “You got any popcorn left?”

“Uh, no. I finished that a while ago.”

He pouted. “Why do I even bother?”

“You okay, Armin?” Marco suddenly spoke up. “You don’t look too well.”

Just as Connie inched around in his seat to look at Armin sitting on the floor, so did everybody else. The leather couches squeaked and the poly beads of Mikasa’s bean bag crunched under her weight. The darkness masked Armin pretty well; the kitchen behind him looked like a black abyss, everything blanketed by the heavy darkness. Connie had to squint to make out his blond head and pale arms. He was holding his knees to his chest and his chin was tucked in between them. He couldn’t see what expression his face held, but the intensity in his forearms told him that he was absolutely terrified, nearly frozen with fear. 

“I’m fine,” he murmured into the darkness.

He was clearly not fine.

“What’s wrong, little guy?” Reiner teased. He swung his meaty arm around Berthold’s shoulders. “You scared of the dark? Did you leave your nightlight at home?”

Annie, sitting beside Armin with the back of her head resting on the couch, shot a deadly glare up at Reiner. Berthold was closer to Reiner than she was and, spotting the look she was giving him, lightly pushed at Reiner’s thigh.

“Stop it,” he whispered.

Annie then rolled her head to look at Armin and the gesture kinda freaked Connie out. Her face was serious and she didn’t blink; it was like that scene in The Exorcist when the possessed little girl turns her head around like a fucking owl.

He shuddered and then turned back to facing the ceiling. He had no idea how Armin thought she was “nice” and not a fucking sociopath.

“What’s wrong, Armin?” Mikasa asked, obviously concerned.

Armin didn’t answer for a moment. He sighed as if he’d been holding his breath this entire time and Connie could hear a small smile in his response: “I’m fine, really. I guess Reiner’s right: I am a little scared of the dark. Of what’s…out there.”

“Oh my God, I thought I was the only one with a stupid fear,” Sasha moaned as she turned around to place a hand on Armin’s leg.

Jean snorted and Connie chuckled. They both had hung out with Sasha long enough to know that she was hopelessly drunk. She always got emotional and touchy-feely with everyone when she was tipsy, and she once fell into the bathtub at a party she and Connie threw once they finally moved into their apartment.

“I’ll tell you my stupid phobia since you were so brave to share yours,” Sasha slurred at Armin. “I’m absolutely terrified of butterflies.”

“Oh my God, it’s true!” Connie affirmed as Jean’s laughter grew. Marco, Reiner, and Berthold couldn’t help but throw in a giggle too. “She nearly pissed herself when we came out of a restaurant and there was a little butterfly in the garden in front of the place.”

Sasha smacked Connie’s cheek pretty hard, making an audible slapping sound and leaving his skin burning. Jean fell into another laughing fit as Sasha scolded him, “Shut up, you little turd! Those things are so creepy!”

“Sasha, thanks, but I’m fine,” Armin tried to soothe her. “Seriously, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Oh, don’t patronize yourself! It doesn’t have to be dark in here; we can have a rave party.”

As the laughter died down once more, Sasha got out her phone and beamed it at the ceiling, flicking it back and forth. “Rave party,” she whispered before beatboxing quietly to herself.

One by one, everyone else got out their phones and flashed it in the air as they joined in on Sasha’s quiet partying. Connie fished out his phone from his back pocket, using it for the first time since they came to the cabin. “Sweet dreams are made of these,” he sang under his breath, in tune to Sasha’s poor beatboxing. “Who am I to disagree?”

As he maneuvered through his phone, he noticed how incredibly slow it was responding to his requests. “Fuck, reception here sucks.”

“Well, we are in the middle of nowhere,” Marco said, shining his phone at Connie’s head. “This stuff’s bound to act a little weird.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Another silent moment swam by (but this time with flashlights aimed at the ceiling and Sasha making shadow puppets). Connie lifted himself on his elbows and peered at the front door.

“Damn, where’s Eren? It’s been, like, fifteen minutes.”

“Maybe he got eaten by a swarm of butterflies,” Jean suggested before he got his own slap from Sasha. “Ow, fuck, Sasha!”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Marco sighed.

“He hasn’t texted you, Mikasa?” Berthold shyly suggested.

“No, he hasn’t.” She looked up at them. “I’m gonna go check on him.”

“He said he’d text if he needed you, Mikasa,” Annie said a little harshly. “Don’t baby him.”

Connie shrunk into himself and braced for impact. “Ah, shit.”

Mikasa and Annie didn’t argue too often, but when they did, it was uncomfortable for everyone. It’s not like they hated each other, but they certainly weren’t the best of friends either. Connie thought they mainly got along for Eren and Armin’s sake. God, those gatherings must be an absolute pain.

“You can’t tell me what to do, Annie.” Mikasa’s voice was low but sharp like a razor blade.

“You’re right—only Eren can do that.”

“Stop it, both of you,” Armin interrupted who was conveniently placed between the two and clearly not in the mood to be the punching bag for them. “We’ll wait a little longer and then we’ll go check on him.”

Just as the room was about to plunge into another pool of awkward silence, the faint sound of rapid footsteps could be heard coming from outside. They pounded up the wooden porch and then a huge weight slammed against the door.

Connie jolted up and stared at the door. “What the—”

The doorknob frantically twisted around, the sound of old metal screeching loudly. The door finally burst open and in stumbled a body. The recognizable shape of Eren slammed his back against the door and stood there, breathing heavily as if he just ran a marathon.

Connie shined his phone in Eren’s direction. “Dude, where were—” The sight of Eren cut off the rest of his sentence and left him with a gaping mouth and big eyes.

Eren carried Historia in his arms. Her bright hair was tangled and had leaves stuck in it. Her eyes and mouth were open, but no emotion crossed her features, still and flat as stone. Large dark stains covered her left leg, her left arm, her entire torso, and little spatters littered across her neck and chin. Eren’s eyes were wide with fear and sweat rolled in heavy beads down his face, but Connie couldn’t ignore the giant stain that made up his right thigh.

“Oh my God, what happened?” he blurted out, jumping up from the couch.

Everyone else shot up from their seats and stared at Eren and Historia, demanding the same thing. Mikasa was the first one to move; she held out her arms (to take Historia or for Eren to fall into, Connie wasn’t sure).

Tears lined Eren’s emerald eyes. “Someone’s out there,” he whimpered. “Oh my God, someone’s out there.”

“Is Historia okay?” Sasha asked in a scream. “Is—Is that blood?”

“Who?” Mikasa ordered. “Who’s out there?”

“Where’s Ymir?”

“Historia! What happened to her?”

“Eren, what’s happening?”

“That’s a lot of blood. Holy fuck, that’s a lot of blood.”

Everyone began shouting at once, moving quickly, panic rising in the air like the billowing smoke of a bonfire. Reiner decided to play the hero and nudged Eren out of the way before grasping the doorknob. Luckily Berthold yanked him back and then locked the door. Marco ran up to Eren with his arms spread out like Mikasa while he began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, ready to get his hands dirty with the seemingly gallons of blood that coated Historia. Jean inched forward but kept backing away the closer he got to the disaster standing in front of them, cursing up a storm in his anxiousness. He eventually found his way next to Connie and Sasha while still hopping from foot to foot. Annie took two steps forward but was held back by Armin’s hand on hers—she didn’t protest, and merely stared in frozen shock. Armin, however, looked like he was ready to hurl, anxiety and disgust scribbled across his wide eyes.  
Connie felt Sasha lean on him and squeeze his arm tightly. He nearly fell over with her drunk weight on him.

“Connie, that’s Historia,” she cried quietly.

He gripped her shoulder. “Y-Yeah, it is.”

“She’s covered in blood.”

“Yeah.”

“Is she…? Oh my God, is she dead?”

Reiner lifted the little blonde girl from Eren’s arms. Berthold and Marco stood over her as they gently brushed back her hair and picked at her bloodied skin, searching for wounds. Mikasa took hold of Eren’s arms and searched his body. His arms and shirt were heavily stained, but as far as they could tell, his upper body suffered no wounds. All of that must’ve been Historia’s blood from carrying her around. Mikasa eventually eyed the growing mess on Eren’s leg.

“Eren, your leg,” she gasped. “It’s bleeding. What happened?”

“There’s someone out there,” he repeated as Mikasa swung one of his arms over her shoulder and grabbed his waist. “They—they had a knife. He got me, but he…” His eyes traveled back to Historia. “He got Historia first.”

“What the fuck!” Jean hollered. “Who was it? H-Historia’s dead? What—where—how the—!” He was so scared he couldn’t even finish a coherent thought.

“Oh my God, Connie.” Sasha turned into his shoulder and began to sob, her body shaking.

He couldn’t utter a sound. He couldn’t even comfort Sasha, something he was usually good at. His trembling fingers held onto his phone as the light shakily floated from Eren and Mikasa limping over to the couch to Reiner holding Historia’s white and red body, Berthold looking down in complete horror. Marco had stepped away from Historia with a sullen expression and then ran over to his backpack at the front door.

“Where’s Ymir?” Connie managed to choke out. “She couldn’t have been too far behind Historia, right?”

“I—I don’t know,” Eren huffed. “I didn’t see her.”

“Fuck, is she still out there?” Jean cursed. Connie felt his presence behind him, still hopping around like a dog trying to get back into the house of safety. 

“He had a mask over his face. And he was big, like, just huge. I found him—” Eren choked on his own words as tears slipped down his cheeks, the memory probably hurting him as much as his leg was. “He—He was stabbing Historia, but—but she was already dead. He heard me coming and turned around with this huge fucking knife in his hands. He got me in the leg, but I managed to knock him out with a rock. I grabbed Historia and came running back here. I don’t know who he is or where Ymir is—it was too dark out there.”

“Who—Who would do this?” Connie stuttered. Despite his warm sweatshirt and Sasha leaning on him, he felt as though he were caught in a blizzard, his bones shaking, his skin chilled.

“It could fucking be anyone,” Eren muttered. “The whole town thinks I’m a sort of devil for being related to Zeke, like I deserve to suffer for his actions. Zeke will probably be evicted from the death penalty and I guess one of the Jaegers has to take the fall. So why not me, right?”

Eren leaned against the leather couch while Mikasa held onto him as tightly as she could as if he would evaporate into a mist and float away. Marco suddenly had a first-aid kit in his hands; he jogged over to Eren and flipped open its lid, his fingers flying through the stuff inside.

“What do we do?” Berthold asked into the chaos. His voice was quiet, as always, but it was loud enough to silence the whole room for a good second or two.

“We have to hide,” Connie answered. He gripped Sasha’s waist and pulled her in closer. “Eren said there’s someone outside and he’ll probably come this way, right? So, we gotta hide.”

“This guy ripped apart Historia and nailed Eren in the thigh,” Jean reminded everyone. “Who knows what else he could do?”

“Let’s get to the basement,” Eren recommended. “We can hide there for now. There’s also guns down there, in case he does come back here.”

Mikasa nodded her head once. “Alright, let’s get moving then.”

No one really argued as Eren pointed to a narrow door tucked in the corner of the living room. Jean opened it for Eren and Mikasa and then trailed in after them. Marco, Connie, and Sasha went down next, Marco still holding his first-aid kit and Connie holding onto Sasha who was swaying from side to side, drowning in a horrible mix between drunkenness and panic. Connie didn’t pay attention who came in next: Armin and Annie or Berthold, Reiner, and Historia’s body.

He wasn’t sure of most things thus far; all he knew was that Historia was dead, Ymir was missing, and some crazy killer was out looking for Eren.


	6. Peering into Madness (Armin POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **written by: thesketchytepe**

11:23 PM 

Annie shut the basement door behind her and stared at Armin over her shoulder. Her thick lips were ajar like she wanted to tell him something, but it was lodged deep in her throat, a grenade waiting to burst. He held onto her hand tightly and watched Berthold and Reiner hurry down the carpeted stairs before disappearing around the corner. He whipped back to Annie; she lowered herself onto the top step and gripped the hand that held hers. He did the same thing.

“Is this real?” she whispered to his face, hot air pushing against his lips as she rested her forehead against his.

The darkness made everything worse. It was much darker here in the basement than it was in the living room. He tried to focus on her snow-white skin, her lemon-colored hair, her electric blue eyes—anything other than the deep blackness that surrounded them, an army of fright closing in on them, readying to strike.

“I—I don’t know,” he breathed.

Historia was dead, that was a fact. But how did she die? There was so much blood and her skin so white; his stomach churned at the thought of it. And Eren, was he actually stabbed? He was also soaked in blood, though nothing to the extent of Historia. Was it his own or all hers? How severe were the wounds? Eren appeared genuinely horrified and was truly convinced there was someone out there. But Ymir wouldn’t abandon Historia, would she? Where was she? Was she dead too? Was the killer someone they knew? Was Eren telling the truth? Was any of this real?

He swallowed, his tongue dry, his skin hot. The darkness crept into the edge of his vision and he felt the violent shaking of his own hands, despite Annie’s strong clutch on him. His head felt warm and light as if he were a hot air balloon. If only he could float away from here, away from the Jaeger cabin and even further away from this everlasting darkness.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confessed to Annie in a strained whisper.

She hesitated, but then he felt her squeeze his hands even tighter and held them up a little higher. “Then I’ll tell you what you’re going to do.”

He locked eyes with her as she murmured in a firm tone (though he could plainly see the dread behind her own stare): “You’re going to act like everything’s okay. Don’t let the others know that you’re just as lost as the rest of them—that’ll upset them even more. They’re going to look towards you for an answer and you can’t let them down. If you tell them enough times that everything’s going to be okay, then they’ll start to believe you. It’s like in history, right? A commander doesn’t let his soldiers know that he’s just as scared as the rest of them, that they’re all at the brink of a hopeless death. Instead he tells them to stand for the cause they think is righteous. Don’t let your soldiers panic, Armin. There’s no time for that.”

The words sunk into his brain and he repeated them over and over again as if he were studying for an exam. Don’t let them know, everything’s okay, don’t panic—there’s no time. Annie pressed her lips to his sweaty forehead.

“You’ve got this. You can do it.”

He briefly wondered if that was a lie she conjured just to get him out there. But, like she said, there’s no time to panic. He slowly withdrew from her and then stood up and walked down the steps. He stared out into the madness before them.

Eren was sitting on the loveseat against one wall with his pants halfway down, exposing a decent size tear in his right thigh. Marco sat next to him with the first-aid kit in his lap; he was currently pouring alcohol on Eren’s wound while lightly swatting at it with a towel. Mikasa sat on the armrest, holding Eren’s hand as he winced at the sharp pain flowing into his thigh; she also held up her phone’s flashlight to help Marco inspect his work. Reiner had gently laid Historia down on another loveseat across from Eren, Mikasa, and Marco. He now had her blood soaked into his shirt, but he didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were stuck on Historia’s bloodied corpse. Berthold was standing off to the side with his hands covering his mouth, looking just as shocked as Reiner. Sasha was throwing a fit, sobbing hysterically, grabbing at her hair and clothes. She fell to her knees and crawled over to Historia. She reached out hesitantly to her but pulled away before collapsing into another panic attack. Connie was trying his best to control Sasha’s hysterics, but was having a hard time just coming to terms with what just happened. He was pulling at her waist, trying to hold her down while aiming his phone at Historia, but it was like attempting to catch a panicked cat, darting from corner to corner at each noise it heard. Jean was pacing back and forth with his own head in his hands. He was mumbling something to himself, but it was hard to hear over all the other chaos.

Armin’s eyes inched to Historia’s body. His gut twisted and pulsed with a different kind of sickness as his gaze outlined the puddle of blood that was her stomach. Mud and leaves caked her clothes and hair, and he swore he spotted some beetle scuttle around her chewed-up ankle. He never saw her skin so white, so translucent; the blood was black and thick and, most likely, still warm. But her face was the most disturbing part of it all. Her eyes were open and her mouth was ajar. And those eyes—God, those clear, empty blue eyes—stared into space, trapped in a blackness that was much darker than the basement of the Jaeger cabin. What did she see before she died? Whose eyes was she forced to look into as she bled out? What filled her heart and spilled out of her veins in her final moments? Terror, anger, confusion, pain, betrayal—

Oh my God.

The sickness leapt to his throat and he slapped a hand over his mouth to keep it down. He ran away from everyone and into another room in the basement. It served as some office—probably for Grisha—with a long wooden desk and a chair on wheels on one side of the room and a wall of bookshelves on the other. He went for the small trash can right by the desk; he fell to his knees and threw his undigested dinner inside.

His hands trembled as they gripped the sides of the can and he could feel fat beads of sweat roll down his temples. His body was on fire and his limbs couldn’t stop shaking. He tried going up for air, but Historia’s eyes flashed across his mind again, and he puked once more. His head—his hot air balloon of a head—was starting to fly away, leaving the rest of his body on the ground to wither like a sunflower with no rain. His vision blurred in and out, in and out, and he slumped to the side with the sun on his back.

“Hey.”

He felt Annie’s hand run up and down his spine; she shifted around so that he was leaning on her instead of the floor. Her other hand was rummaging through her coat pocket; she fished out a small water bottle.

“This is from home,” she confirmed. “Drink it.”

He complied, nearly drowning the thing in four huge gulps. When he was finished, Annie took it and stuffed it back in her pocket. With his head tucked in the crook of her neck, he clung onto her waist desperately, breathing heavily. She simply held him in return, rubbing his back in slow circles, which felt really nice despite how shitty he felt now.

“I can’t do this,” he huffed. “I can’t. Th-There’s so much blood, and Eren is really hurt. Everyone’s panicking—Sasha’s broken, I mean, can’t you hear her screaming? And, oh my God, her eyes. Historia’s eyes—they’re so…bright and glossy and-and somehow aware. She’s dead, Annie, and we’re next. I don’t know if Eren’s a part of this, but I know someone else will die. Ymir’s probably dead now.”

Tears lined his eyes. “Annie, I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No. This isn’t—I don’t know what I’m fucking doing.”

“Armin.”

Her voice was hard, rock solid, maybe a little aggravated. It was clear that she wasn’t going to let him win this argument. Her free hand reached up and cradled the back of his head which was probably drenched in his own sweat by now.

“You can turn the tide of wars,” she explained slowly, making each word count. “If anyone can figure out a way of such a complicated or ambiguous scenario, it’s you. It’s not about who can withstand the sight of blood or who can kick his way through a brick wall—it’s always the plan, the thinking process that saves people’s lives. I got your back, but you have to get us there. You will get us there. Your worth is priceless and no one else can do this but you.”

They sat there in silence for a moment, hearing Sasha’s loud crying and Jean’s confused yelling and Eren’s painful curses. Armin closed his eyes as another tear slipped down his cheek. He concentrated on Annie’s hand on his back and hung onto her words for motivation. A shaky sigh escaped his lips.

You can turn the tide of wars.

He placed a slow kiss on her neck and finally straightened up. He felt her eyes on him as he staggered back to his feet, wiping away the mess off his face with his sleeves. He offered a hand and she took it. He kissed her knuckles and gave her a shaky smile before letting her go and walking back into the madness.

“Shit, what are we gonna do?” Reiner finally spoke for the first time since Eren came back from outside. “We can’t just sit here.”

“Well, what do you suggest we do?” Jean yelled back, throwing his hands in the air. “The guy’s a crazy psychopath with a knife! He knows we’re here and will kill the rest of us in order to get to Eren.”

“Jean, calm down,” Marco snapped. “You yelling isn’t helping anyone right now.”

“Connie was right about reception,” Berthold added. He pulled his phone away from his ear. “I can’t reach anyone.”

“Fucking fantastic,” Jean grumbled and continued to angrily pace around.

“Guys, I’m sorry,” Eren muttered. “This is all my fault. I should’ve known better than to bring friends to my dad’s cabin. Everyone in town wants me dead and I’ve only dragged you guys into it by bringing you here. I…” He shook his head and whipped at his eyes. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. We were supposed to hang out and have fun, but now Historia’s dead and Ymir’s missing. All because of me.”

“You didn’t know,” Mikasa soothed. “You had no way of knowing this would happen. It’s not your fault.”

“This wasn’t some freak accident, Eren,” Marco agreed with Mikasa. “This was a planned murder. And we’re your friends; we’re gonna get out of this together.”

“But how?” Eren paused to gasp at Marco smearing away the blood running down his leg. The doctor-in-training then pulled out a roll of bandages and began wrapping them around Eren’s thigh. “I-I don’t think that rock killed him and he’s probably heading this way now. What if he has accomplices?” 

“We have to do something, Eren!” Reiner barked. “We’re sitting ducks down here.”

A small pause squeezed its way into the conversation, but it was pushed back by the broken sobs of Sasha.

“S-She was supposed to get married.”

Everyone looked at her kneeling next to the couch Historia laid on. She was holding her hand as if it were made of glass, observing all the harm done to it. They didn’t require night vision to know that Sasha’s cheeks dripped with her own tears or to see the shattered expression on her face.

“What?” whispered Connie. He had given up on trying to hold Sasha back. He now sat in a puddle in the middle of the floor, staring at the back of her head.

Sasha turned to them. “Ymir told me that she was going to propose to Historia next summer on their Europe trip. They were supposed to go to Paris and in front of the Eiffel Tower, she would propose to her. But…but now she can’t. Historia can never finish her business degree or go on her Europe trip or marry Ymir. She’s dead…oh my God, what is Ymir gonna do?”

The basement became a cave and Sasha’s confession became a single drop of water. It reverberated in their ears among the heavy silence and it reminded them of how large, how hopeless the situation seemed to be.

“Fuck,” Eren whispered into the abyss. Connie and Reiner pushed their heads into their hands and Mikasa simply bowed her head and closed her eyes. 

Armin felt the sickness bubble in his stomach again and his heart dropped into it, nearly boiling himself alive. But he swallowed it down as best he could, took a long, deep breath, and then walked toward Historia.

“Reiner’s right,” he muttered. “We can’t just stay here; we’re waiting to die down here.”

He stooped in front of her body and forced himself to look at her, into her eyes. He would now have to see through them and picture what exactly happened to her and who she saw in her final moments. Could he imagine the pain and fear correctly? He’d have to, if he were to figure this out.

His fingers reached out and lightly brushed down on her eyelids. Despite her paper white skin and the gory mess that ate at her body, she looked like she was in a deep sleep now.

“We have to find Ymir and get help,” Armin said as he stood back up and faced the others lingering in the darkness.

Connie was right, however, he thought to himself. Ymir wouldn’t have been too far behind Historia. There’s a good possibility that she’s dead too. His heart sunk heavily at the thought, but there wasn’t enough time to properly mourn for her yet, so he dragged onward for the sake of everyone else in the room.

He glanced at Eren in the dark. Marco had just finished wrapping up his thigh and he was looking at it with a cringy expression as if the sharp sting of alcohol still bubbled in the wound. I still don’t trust Eren. I can’t forget what I saw in that box. He has to have a part in all of this, right? Is there even a killer outside? Is someone else helping him? Would Eren seriously stab himself just to prove a point? He’s reckless, that’s for sure. Maybe it would be safer if the others went outside and searched for this “killer” than to be stuck in here with him. Nevertheless, we have to find out what happened to Ymir and get help. Get help no matter what.

His eyes drifted to Annie near the staircase. She was mostly shrouded in the darkness, yet he could still see her pale blond hair, wrapped up in a messy bun on the top of her head. She was staring at him, awaiting his command, and, as he peeked at everyone else, so were they.

“Yeah, thanks for the tip, Sherlock,” Jean muttered. “But how are we gonna do that? There’s a psycho out there and we have nothing to defend ourselves with and all our phones are shit.”

“Not to mention that we’re stuck in the middle of nowhere,” Connie moaned into the ground.

“We know that Historia and Ymir were heading to the barn, right?” Armin reminded them. “Eren found Historia outside with the killer. So, obviously, they somehow got split up and Ymir probably ran for safety in the barn. She’s most likely still there.”

“How are we gonna get to her with that guy still running around?” Reiner prompted.

“We need to distract the killer. I propose we send out three groups while another stays here, in case Ymir comes back. One group should head out the back door and sneak around the cabin and go get Ymir at the barn. Another group should try and throw the killer off our scent. They could take one of our cars and start driving around aimlessly in the woods, making as much noise and commotion as possible. He’s on foot and has a knife—we’ll have a huge advantage over him with a vehicle, the bigger the better in this case. And the third group needs to go and get some help. I think our best shot is to take another car and head towards the highway, where the reception is better. They’ll call 911 and stay on the highway and wait for the police to show up. They’ll be safer there anyhow, instead of staying here in the cabin or running around in the woods.”

“So the group that goes to get Ymir would probably be the most vulnerable in this scenario,” Marco thought aloud, pinching his chin. “True that the killer will most likely be on the second group’s tail, but they have a car. They could just hit him and be done with it.”

“We’ll probably want to keep him alive. We don’t want the tables to turn on us for whatever reason. If we screw this up, the cops may make us all suspects of killing Historia.”

Sasha gasped beside Armin on the floor and he looked down at her. Her cheeks were shiny with tears and her ponytail was loosened, her hair sticking to her wet cheeks.

“They wouldn’t think that, would they?” she cried. “How could they? Historia is our friend.” Her eyes flew to Annie. “The cops wouldn’t think we killed her, would they?”

Armin watched Annie through his bangs as she stuffed her hands into her coat pockets. “If someone reports a crime, usually the first suspects are the ones who called it in. Keeping the killer alive is the better option so Eren and Ymir can confirm that he’s the guy that killed Historia and, if we’re lucky enough, he’ll confess to the crime.” She shrugged. “Depends on how cocky he is.”

“Who would be fucking proud of committing a crime, of killing someone?” Connie growled as he dug his fingers into the carpet.

“More than you’d think,” Annie answered lowly.

A moment of silence passed before Mikasa spoke up. “Marco has a point. How would the first group, the one getting Ymir, protect themselves in case anything slipped up?”

Armin pondered. “Maybe we’ll have the group distracting the killer run by the barn and pick them up along with Ymir. They’d have to make a quick getaway, but it’d be safer than running by foot back, especially if Ymir’s injured in any way.”

An idea popped in his brain. “Wait, Eren, do you know if your dad’s guns are still here?”

Eren peeked up at him and paused, deciphering what he meant. His eyes suddenly lit up like cat’s in the dark. “Oh yeah! They should still be in his office.”

He struggled to get up from the couch and, remembering that he had been sitting there with his pants halfway down this entire time, twisted around to pull them back up and adjusted his belt. Mikasa stood up with him as did Marco. Eren grunted a little at the sudden movement, but limped pass the staircase and into the office rapidly.

“Uh, quick question,” Connie called out, lifting his head from the floor and looking Eren’s way. “Why does your dad have guns here? Guns, as in plural.”

“My dad and mom were super into nature and shit,” Eren answered from the darkness ahead. “That’s why they built this cabin here. But animals roam around here all the time: raccoons, deer, rabbits, all sorts of stuff. My dad would sometimes hunt while out here and he kept his guns in his office.”

Eren limped back out of the office with two guns in his hands, a hunting rifle and a shotgun. He set them on the ground and then went back into the darkness only to reappear a second later with two ammunition boxes. He slowly lowered onto one knee and began filling the magazines with shells.

“When I got old enough,” he continued, “Dad showed me how to use these and I went on some hunting trips with him. Mom didn’t want me to get hurt, obviously, but I ended up being a pretty good shot.”

“Thank God for Armin’s memory,” Reiner said, sending a grin his way. “You might’ve just saved our lives, buddy.” He slapped his bicep in a friendly manner, but his huge hand left it aching for a moment or two.

“So, what?” Jean asked. “How are we gonna distribute two guns among us?”

“Maybe one for the group that’s getting Ymir and the other to the one that’ll distract the killer?” Marco suggested. “Those positions have to take the most risks.”

Armin nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that sounds like the best.”

“So…who’s going in which group?” Jean finally asked the inevitable.

Silence once again drowned the basement, anxieties rising up. Armin glanced at each worried face and then opened his mouth to speak, but Reiner beat him to it, raising a bloodied hand above his head.

“I’ll go and distract the killer. I’ve used a shotgun in the past; I know how to use those things.” He paused and then turned to Annie. “Annie will come with me. She knows how to use those things too, probably more than—”

“No.”

Reiner frowned at her sharp response. “No? What do you mean, no?”

“I’m not going with you.”

Reiner glared at her and took a step forward, pointing a finger at her. “You may not like it, but you and I are the best ones for the job. We can use those guns just fine and you beat people up all the time. You’re almost a cop, Annie. This will be a part of your career, so what better way than to start hunting down a crazy killer than now.”

She hissed back at him, “I’m not going, Reiner. Have someone else go with you; your thick skull alone could scare the guy off.”

“This isn’t the time to argue, Annie! You’re coming with me, alright!”

Armin’s shoulders sagged at Reiner’s points. They made sense and Reiner would probably win everyone else over and urge Annie to go. But the threat wasn’t outside—he was in this very room, hurriedly sliding shells into the shotgun like he was being helpful. Annie was prepared to take care of Eren if things came to that, but…if she stayed by Armin’s side like he asked her to, she could get hurt too.

He sighed quietly. “Annie, you—”

“I’ll go with you, Reiner,” Berthold interrupted, raising his own hand.

Everyone, including Reiner, Annie, and Armin, were surprised by Berthold’s bold gesture. Reiner snapped his head to his boyfriend.

“What? No, you can’t—”

“I can work with shotguns, too, you know,” Berthold reasoned. “You, me, and Annie go on hunting trips ourselves, remember? I’m not afraid of handling one. And Annie wants to stay with Armin, and I’m not the one to separate them, especially at a time like this. And who am I to let you go a very dangerous path without me by your side?” He inhaled, his breath trembling like he were caught in a cold gust. “I’m going with you, no matter what you say.”

Reiner stuttered and turned to Annie, expecting her to interrupt Berthold, but she didn’t. Armin could see the worry clear in her eyes; her lips were pursed as if she wanted to say something to change Berthold’s mind.

Berthold stepped back into Reiner’s line of sight. “I’m going with you, Reiner.” As if for good measure, he bent down and grabbed the shotgun out of Eren’s hands and finished shoving the shotgun shells into the gun. He snapped it into place and nodded at Reiner.

“We can do it.”

Reiner stared at him for a long time, but eventually nodded back, though slowly and unsure.

“I’ll go get Ymir,” Marco volunteered next.

Jean snapped to him. “Like hell you are.”

Marco glared back at him. “Why wouldn’t I go? She needs our help, Jean, and I can do that.”

“No, you should go to the highway and get help or stay here and wait for Ymir to come back.”

“Those are the safest options, but Ymir needs help now. What if she’s injured like Armin said? I could bring my kit and help her as best I can. I can offer medical help, so getting Ymir is the best option for me.”

Jean stared at Marco with the same worry that Reiner gave Berthold. “But-but, what about…how can you—”

Marco squeezed both of Jean’s hands and locked eyes with him, confidence and bravery shining through his gaze. “I can do this, Jean. Trust me on this; helping people is what I want to do with my life, even if I must risk it for others.”

Jean stared at his eyes and then at their hands. Armin thought he saw a tear glistening in his dark eyes, but he quickly turned away before he could confirm it.

“Shit!” he yelled into the dark. “Fuck!” He huffed and paced around some more, hands on his hips, his stare drilling holes into the carpeted floor. He finally stopped and turned back to Marco. “Then I’ll go with you.”

Marco blinked. “Are you sure? We have to be quiet and carry a rifle with us.”

Jean hesitated but nodded. “Yeah, I can handle a gun. I’ll be fine, I just…gotta go with you. I can’t let anything happen to you.”

Marco looked at Jean for a while. He seemed to be searching for something in Jean’s clearly anxious expression, perhaps an excuse for him not to go. He searched hard, but ultimately failed to find anything as a defeated sigh escaped through his lips. He then straightened up and grabbed Jean’s hand again and gave it another squeeze.

“We got this,” he whispered to him.

Eren then showed Jean and Marco how to fire and reload the rifle—Marco paid attention carefully and asked questions when needed and Jean tried paying attention as well, but his hands shook so bad that Marco offered to carry the gun for now.

As they finished wrapping up, almost in unison did Sasha and Connie bolt up from their spots on the ground and declare, “I’ll go get help.”

Their heads whipped toward one another, but, like the soulmates they were, a look was exchanged to which the other seemed to understand completely without any words having to be said. Sasha faced Armin and told him, “I have to do this, for Historia and for Ymir. I’ll get Ymir help and, in this way, I’d help avenge Historia.”

Connie huffed a big sigh, his shoulder raising and falling with it. “We’ll be quick; we’ll be alright.”

“Are you guys sure?” Armin asked. “If you—”

“I have to do this for them, okay?” Sasha interrupted a little louder than necessary. “I just have to.”

With the faraway look in her eyes, it seemed like she was trying to convince herself more than Armin. But he didn’t talk back. He understood that he couldn’t stop her, so he wouldn’t even try.

They all hugged each other before Sasha, Connie, Jean, Marco, Reiner, and Berthold departed. They were long and hard and tears fell like waterfalls. Even Jean, who wasn’t really fond of physical affection (except when it came to Marco, of course), sprung a few tears as he tightly embraced Connie and Sasha, the veins in his arms bulging at the closeness he shared with them.

Reiner and Berthold held Annie for a very long time—she almost entirely disappeared behind Reiner’s muscular arms and Berthold’s long, skinny back. But Armin did see her tiny fists grip at their shirts and a strip of blonde hair fall over Reiner’s bicep. His heart sunk once more. He was asking too much of her: not only was she restricted to staying by his frail, little pathetic side, but she had to give up her friends for his sake. Annie was in a greater risk of danger while staying with him, down here in the dark with Eren and Mikasa. The regret was starting to weigh heavily on his shoulders, and he knew it wasn’t going to get any lighter.

Armin thanked Reiner and Berthold as many times as he could, he held onto Jean and Marco so tightly his body ached a little bit after he withdrew, and he cried along with Sasha and Connie, who were always so full of smiles and jokes—it was troubling to see them this way. Mikasa also held onto their friends with a somber expression; she embraced Sasha the longest, running her fingers through Sasha’s auburn hair.

Eren thanked them all and apologized as well. He roughly patted Jean’s back as he hugged him as if they were good friends and didn’t bicker at every chance they got. He wiped away Sasha’s tears and smiled wobbly at her, saying that she was going to be just fine. He thanked Marco for being a wonderful friend and a great human being as he squeezed his shoulders. He was spreading as much love and positivity as he could as if this was really their last time all together.

Once Reiner, Berthold, Sasha, Connie, Marco, and Jean quietly climbed up the stairs and embarked on their impossible mission, a different kind of silence fell between Armin, Annie, Mikasa, and Eren. They exchanged looks at one another before their eyes eventually fell back on Historia’s body, on her bloody sleeping form.

“They’ll be fine,” Eren said into the darkness. “They’ll come back.” 

Armin could only pray that he was right.


	7. Run (Berthold POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **written by: blueTshirts. There is also a brief mention of suicide in this chapter. Be cautious as you read if you are triggered by this topic.**

12:04 AM 

To be fair, I haven’t held a shotgun in quite a while. It makes me kinda nervous, I don’t want to be the one to screw up and get someone hurt. On top of that, I’m the only one with a gun between me, Reiner, Sasha, and Connie. The pressure is on me to protect everyone. 

Let’s just hope we don’t run into the psycho.

As I’m sitting on the floor against the kitchen island fiddling with the gun, I glance over at Sasha, Connie and Reiner all in the living room hunched behind the couch. I can barely hear their whispers, but I notice the obvious fear in Sasha’s eyes and the determination in Reiner's. He is trying to talk them through the plan another time, just to make sure that we can get this right and so I don’t have to use a gun. 

Jean and Marco are closer to me as they’re sitting against the kitchen cabinets next to the back sliding door. The pair say nothing, except hold each other’s hands and watch the trio in the living room along with me. 

Sasha and Connie probably have the best bet out of any of us, even the ones that are staying in the cabin. All they have to do is get to the car and speed like hell off the Jaeger property, the rest of us have to do the dirty work. But I can’t blame them for being terrified, we’re all terrified. 

I notice Reiner’s head poke over the back of the couch at me. He gives a subtle smile. It makes my stomach churn. 

They’re ready. 

I take a moment to breathe and then scoot myself across the cabin floor to get to the front door. Unfortunately, the front door doesn’t have nearly as many windows as the back door. The only windows I have to check if the coast is clear are little half foot tiles on either side of the hard wooden door. Plus, with the electricity still out, there’s no porch light. The killer could be hiding right behind the door for all I know. 

Reiner, Sasha, and Connie come up from the living room with their heads low and crouch behind me. Reiner rests his hand on my back softly, his thumb brushes over my spine to try and give me some sense of calm. It doesn’t work. I know Reiner, he’s just as terrified as everyone else, if not more so. 

“Can’t see much,” I whisper so low that I almost can’t hear myself. Reiner nods and lowers his head to Sasha. 

“Wait until I’ve waved at you to come out,” he says. Sasha doesn’t argue, but I can hear her breath as she fails to remain level headed. I don’t blame her, I don’t blame anyone, I’m astounded that I’m as calm as I am. I don’t think the reality of the situation has really hit me yet. 

I take another look outside. Darkness. The faint reflections of moonlight off car hoods is all I have to give me an idea of what we’re running into. I sigh in frustration. 

I give Reiner a look. He knows that this is shit. We’re about to be blind dogs running into the sea and expecting a shark to not be around. Stupid. Of course Reiner had to sign up for this part. His recklessness is disguised as confidence and born from constant uncertainty. I knew Reiner was going to jump at the first moment to become a walking target. In his head, he can pretend that he’s doing it for his friends, for their greater safety, he can die for them and earn an honorable death. But behind all that is a hidden relief that maybe someone else can pull the trigger on him rather than him doing it himself. 

How the hell am I supposed to get through to him? 

The answer is: I can’t. So all that’s left for me to do is protect my boyfriend from himself. In this case, that means going into the middle of the woods at the dead of night to become bait for a murderer. You do what you can for the people you love, I guess. 

“Let’s go,” I mumble to him. He nods looking back at Jean and Marco to make sure they’re paying attention for our sign. As if they wouldn’t be. 

Sasha squirms in front of me to grab the doorknob, unlock it, twist it impossibly slow and open the door for us. When the door opens just a crack, I feel a breeze of cold air escape into the cabin. Maybe it’s running from the killer too. 

I stand just as Reiner does. He goes to place his body in front of mine to exit first but I stick my foot out before he can. Idiot. He gives me a leveling look, I give it back. 

Without any time to argue, I push in front of my boyfriend and step out onto the porch, shotgun ready. I pause for a moment and squint at the surrounding land to see any misplaced shadows. I don’t see anything, but it would be pretty stupid if the killer was just loitering around the cars waiting for us.

A thought runs through my head to check the back seats of the cars before we get into them. 

I take another step forward. My shoulders tense as the cold night wraps up my body. Reiner’s inches behind me with his hand on the small of my back. Then, without any sign of anxiety or care, Reiner steps around and in front of me to start down the couple of steps off the porch. 

“Fuck,” I breathe. I follow after him. 

Reiner, pretending to be careful of his surroundings and wareful of a possible killer lurking around, peers around the side of the cabin. Wind ruffles his coat and blows my hair into my eyes. I step up to Reiner and look down the sides of the building just like he did. My eyes linger on the fake skeletons in the porch and in the front lawn, the Halloween decorations don’t seem so innocent now. 

I take a step further to walk carefully down half the gravel pathway to make sure the coast is clear for Sasha and Connie. Lightning bugs flicker in and out of the darkness,   
leaves ruffle through the long blades of grass, and a wind chime clinks softly together behind us. 

Nothing moves beyond the darkness, not yet at least. I figure it’s the best we have. I look at Reiner who's made it to my side, we exchange simultaneous shrugs. Reiner waves a hand back at the front door. Sasha and Connie join us on the gravel pathway much quieter and slower then Reiner and I were. I guess it’s best for the pair that’s the most noisy to play bait after all. 

Reiner pats Connie’s shoulder, I give a lingering look at Sasha. The two cling to each other. Both plainly display faces full of uncertainty, but they power through it. I believe in them. We’ve already said our goodbye’s, I know that they’ll do everything they can to bring us back some help. 

I just hope the rest of us don’t fuck it up in the process. 

Reiner and I head to my car as Connie and Sasha head to theirs. They stay as low to the ground as they can as they weave between the cars. My stomach lurches when I remember that we should look in the backseat. I forgot to tell them. I hope there aren’t any surprises for them. 

Surprisingly, I don’t feel afraid. The killer hasn’t shown his face yet and if he does, he’ll get it blown away. I don’t care what Armin says. That guy killed Historia, he deserves whatever’s coming to him. 

I make sure to continue to keep an eye out as we come up to my car. But my throat closes up as soon as I see it. 

My truck hugs the ground having dropped a few inches in height. The tires. They’re all slashed and my truck sits on useless silver rims. We’re supposed to make a distraction for the killer and then go pick up Jean, Marco, and Ymir. How are we supposed to drive around rough, unpaved terrain without tires? 

Reiner and I freeze as we look at each other. The sense of peace I had breaks as fear cripples my confidence.

Reiner reaches out and grabs my arm, I stumble towards him. “He’s onto us, he’s probably watching right now.” 

My breath hitches and I make a feverish look over my shoulder as my vision starts to tunnel. 

“What do we do?” I whisper feeling naked all the sudden. 

“At least his attention is still on us, that was the point right? We just have to make sure Horse Face and Freckles have time to get to the Love Barn,” Reiner says, barely any fear crosses his features. 

“What about-?” 

Reiner and I both freeze when we hear a car start and a horrible screeching sound like metal scraping on rock. 

As if on instinct, we bolt it towards Sasha and Connie's car. There’s no way that the killer wasn’t listening. He knows we’re out here. My ribs feel like they’re rattling with the pounding of my heart. I don’t care how loud my feet are as they hit the ground and I don’t worry about my breathing coming out in gasping breaths. 

We skid to a halt in front of the jeep, all four of its tires slashed like ours. Connie is frozen in the driver's seat with his eyes wide, and his face dark. Both of his hands clench the steering wheel with a white knuckle grip. Sasha sits in the passenger seat with a hand covering her mouth and tears welling in her eyes. They know we’re fucked. 

I watch Reiner bounce on the balls of his feet for a moment like he’s hyping himself up for a race, and then break it to Connie’s side of the car. I watch him rip open the door press a button on the inside of the car. 

A sudden alarm squeals from the car in loud blaring bursts. I flinch back at the headlights as they flash at me in the middle of the dark. I want to scream at Reiner and slap him for being so clumsy but I remain still in panic. 

Reiner proceeds to yank Connie out of the car by his shirt, and pull him around the front towards me. Sasha is quick to scramble out of the car and meet the three of us in the strobing spotlight. 

“Go back to the house,” Reiner says to the pair loud enough to hear over the alarms. Connie snaps out of his haze and starts shaking his head wildly.

“No way we’re leaving you guys,” Connie says louder, the fear making his way to his voice. Sasha looks up at me with such a terrified look on her face that it makes me want to cry with her. 

“Don’t be a fucking idiot-”

“What the fuck about you-?”

“Do you want to fucking die-”

I ignore the two bickering and lunge forward to grab Sasha’s hand. We only have one choice at this point. 

The killer knew we’d try to go for our cars. All the tires are slashed. There’s no way for us to escape or to call for help. The killer is smart. It’s almost like he’s playing a game with us. He must be watching, there is no way that he isn’t. He knows we’re at the cars. If we escape back into the house that would only lead to luring him inside to more people, and also leave Jean and Marco alone in the woods. 

So with no refuge inside the cabin and no escape in our cars the last option that’s left is to run. 

With Sasha’s hand in mine I tell the fighting idiots as calm as I can, “Run.”

I turn and start pulling Sasha towards the woods past the side of the cabin. She doesn’t pull away and runs with me willingly. Reiner and Connie follow without an argument, it’s not like I gave them the option to. 

We don’t have time to play hero or victim. We don’t have time for petty arguments. We don’t have time to fuck up. We have to be smart and be quick or we’re dead. And I refuse to see any more of my friends die. 

We run towards the line of trees. I make a careful look to my side where I know Marco and Jean have probably already run towards the barn. We just need to lead the killer on a wild goose chase until he can’t find any of us. 

God I hope this works. 

Once we break through the treeline and into the woods, it’s harder to run as fast. Darkness envelops us and we can barely see our own feet. Sasha maintains her grip on my hand and I hear Connie cursing to himself behind us. 

Only a few yards into the woods does Reiner reach out and grab my bicep and bring us to a slamming halt. 

“What the fuck are you doing-” he begins. 

I stop him before he can start up with his shit again. 

“Don’t fucking try that right now. Don’t be an idiot and act like you can take this guy on your own. We have to stick together,” I say with my heavy breathing making each of my words more difficult to say. Connie reaches out and grabs Sasha. She lets go of my hand and clings to Connie. 

Reiner glares at me with his jaw clenched. Telling him he’s wrong isn’t going to help. Telling him he’s stupid for acting this way isn’t going to help either. I need him to trust me. 

“We need you Reiner. You’re acting like you can handle this on your own and you’ll be the hero, but I know that you know that’s not true and that you think this is a suicide mission. You’re ready to fucking get killed-” I choke on my own words. I know Reiner’s been having an awful time lately, a really hard fucking time but there’s nothing I can do about it. I know that he thinks he’s a burden to everyone around him, even me. I can’t imagine how he could think that way, because I would die if anything happened to him. I need him more than he needs me. 

I grab his jacket collar. “You can’t die on me, okay? I need you. I need you so fucking bad and if you get killed for being reckless, then I have no idea what I’m going to do. Please, stay with me.” 

I’m crying, I know that. But there’s no use in focusing on that. I’m exhausted, terrified, and damn near to going insane if my boyfriend pulls another trick that’s going to get him killed. 

“Please,” I say again. 

Reiner breaks his act and leans forwards to let out a shaky breath into my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he says. 

“Don’t be, I love you, but we have to go, okay?” I say pressing a kiss into his sweaty hair. 

He nods. And we’re off again. We pull out a couple of phone flashlights and continue in a misdirectional run through the woods. None of us know where we’re going. Hopefully we’ll end up at the barn but there’s no way to tell. 

I hear Sasha crying softly behind me. It breaks my heart. She doesn’t deserve this, Connie doesn’t deserve this. None of them deserve this. This was all just supposed to be a fun weekend. 

We all freeze at the crystal clear sound of a rifle firing in the distance. Icicles spike from my feet all the way to my head. It almost makes me light headed. A gunshot. Close enough that the echoing sound reverberates off the trees around us. 

The rifle. Marco had it when we left. 

“Is that-?” Sasha starts but Reiner shushes her. 

Voices. Yelling.

The four of us try to quiet our own breathing to listen to the woods. To the voices in the distance. We wait. None of us say but we’re all waiting for either more gunshots or final screams. 

What if we failed? We had one job and that was to distract the killer long enough for Jean and Marco to find Ymir and make it to the Barn. But what if the killer’s already gotten to them? What if they’re already dead? 

I feel my knees wobble and my throat thicken with tears. 

“Lets keep going, those shots weren’t far, we should be close,” Reiner says. I nod, although unsure of myself. Reiner runs his hand down my arm and leans down to try and catch my eyes. “They need us, right?” 

I look at him for a moment, then back at Sasha and Connie. Sasha looks like shit. Connie clings to her with the same fear that I feel. 

They need us. We’re here to protect each other. We can do this. 

I nod at Reiner. “Let’s go.”


	8. Dragged Through Fear (Marco POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **written by: blueTshirts**

12:10 AM 

My heart’s thrumming in my chest. My hands tighten around the body of the late Dr. Jaeger’s rifle. I can hear Jean’s breath wheeze quietly in the back of his throat even though he’s trying to be quiet. Somewhere in the back of my mind I question the sanity of this plan, even the sanity of the situation. I wish we hadn’t come. I guess Jean was right.

I crouch behind the curtain of the back sliding door of the cabin. Jean kneels next to me behind the kitchen counter as we both peer out at the dark outside waiting for headlights and a car horn to start going off. I try to avoid looking at the drying blood beneath our feet. I can’t think about that right now.

It’s dark, everything is black. The only light is from the moon through the trees. I squint through the darkness looking for any sort of movement. Dread fills my gut as my vision plays games with me. The harder I concentrate the more it seems like there are shapes around the trunks of trees, wandering animals through the bushes, arms swaying in the wind, demons lurking at the edges of shadows. 

I swallow. 

I almost jump when I feel Jean’s hand wrap around the back of my bicep. I glance at him. He’s terrified. His face is clouded in sharp, dark shadows and fear. My chest aches knowing that this is literally one of his worst nightmares when coming here. First off, he honestly doesn’t like Eren, plus, he doesn’t care all too much for the rest of them. He came because I asked him to. Besides the fact that Jean is surrounded by people he’d rather not be around, he’s in the middle of the woods. Jean’s from the city, he'd rather be in the slums surrounded by crime and garbage than in the middle of woods with creatures and nature. He’s completely out of his element. 

And now this shit is happening. 

I hold eye contact trying to tell him with my stare that I’m sorry for all of this happening, that I’m going to take care of him, and that I love him so much. I see his shoulders sag with a sigh. 

Reiner and Berthold are already gone with Sasha and Connie right behind them. I’m fairly certain that the four of them will be alright together, they’re a tough batch now fueled by fear and survival instincts. If they come in contact with the killer, I could almost feel bad for the guy with what they’d do to him if he tried anything. 

I do my best to stay optimistic. That’s all we have at this point. We just have to stick to the plan and this might work. I trust the other guys. I just hope there aren’t any surprises for us around the corner. 

Jean and I both wince at the echoing car alarm going off on the other side of the building. Flashing lights bounce off the trees. The shadows seem to move even more. The strobing light does nothing to settle my fear for what we’re about to throw ourselves into. 

My hand reaches up to the handle of the door. I muster as much strength into my arm to keep it from shaking. Before I can vault the door open, Jean grabs my wrist and pulls my hand away from the handle. 

“Jean-” I blurt in a whisper. He ignores me and pulls my arm towards him. He smashes our lips together and gives me a panicked and desperate kiss. I almost wish he hadn’t, it settles a deeper fear into my bones that I didn’t want to think about. The thought of one of us getting hurt, or worse, makes me want to back out of the plan and fend for ourselves in fleeting fear. 

His hand moves to the back to my neck to pull me back. He stares into my eyes, serious, a courage moves it way into his muscles that does it’s best to hide from the fear. He tells me that he’s got my back with his eyes. I swallow a rising feeling of suffocation. 

“Don’t be a hero,” he says quietly as he grabs the handle of the door himself and looks out the glass door for a last check to see if anyone is waiting for us. 

I hate it when he says that. My shoulders tense and my thighs cramp from the crouch. ‘Don’t be a hero.’ It means protect yourself in Jean’s way. He knows me. He knows how I’d jump in front of a bullet for a stranger. He wants me to protect myself at all costs, but I just don’t think he understands me on that level. I can’t imagine someone getting hurt if I can do something about it. It’s not worth it. 

“Let’s go,” Jean says over his shoulder. 

Fuck it.

Jean squeezes through the crack in the door he opened, looking again side to side for any lurking presence. He motions for me to follow after him; coast must be clear. I close the door behind me and the two of us start to move as quickly as we can into the woods with as little noise as possible. 

I can feel my heart in my head and my blood run hot through my limbs. Even though it’s probably forty degrees outside I start sweating immediately. Without using our cell phones for flashlights, (so we don’t draw any attention to us) the two of us do the best navigating we can manage in the flashing headlights. It feels like we’re running out of a night club that’s being shot up. All the fear and all the disarray. 

The further we get into the woods the dimmer the lights become. Each step disappears into the darkness before it lands. There must be a trail, but without light there’s no way to tell if you’re stepping onto a branch or a snake. My breath quickens, panic rises in my throat as my lungs deal with my stumbling movements and frantic brain.

What if this doesn’t work? We are literally running blind in near complete darkness with no sense of direction to wherever this Love Barn is as a murderer is chasing us. We’re blind hamsters racing around a clear tank like we’re some play things. How do we even know the killer is dumb enough to fall for our gimics? What if he’s already killed more of our friends and are coming for us next?

I stop as my breathing makes my head feel like a balloon stretched thin with too much helium. My heart races faster than my thoughts and I feel like collapsing into a ball of panic. I grip the gun as if it’ll protect me from the fear. As if I can just shoot the fear away. As if I could protect myself with this thing at all. What if the fear is more dangerous than the killer himself?

I shake my head feeling dizzy as I do so. Don’t be like that, I tell myself, everything is going to be okay. You can do this.

“Marco?” I hear Jean’s voice echo through the darkness. Shit. Flight instincts kick in as I snap out of my panic and I run to his voice just so he’ll shut up. We have nothing if not inconspicuousness. 

But I can’t see him. I can’t see anything. I’m running with a loaded gun in the middle of the woods with no light looking for my boyfriend. My feet feel numb as they stumble amongst exposed roots and ragged rocks. My body moves just because there’s nothing else that I can do with rational thought. 

My heels grind to a halt when I see a light blink on in the distance. I stare at it for a moment as it scans the trees. I hope it’s Jean, but it could be someone else. I subconsciously flick the safety off the gun and place my finger next to the trigger. 

“Marco?” I hear Jean again, he’s being as quiet as he can but it still makes my spine shiver with fear. The light beam sweeps away and I can see the shape of my boyfriend in the glow. Thank god. 

I start walking towards him. He may be drawing attention to us with the light but at least it's two of us against one. At least, I hope it’s only one. 

Jean’s flashlight sweeps over me and the light burns my eyes, I squint and raise my hand to block the beam from my line of vision. 

“Thank fuck,” I hear Jean say under his breath from about twenty feet away. I continue walking towards him as he lowers the light so it’s on the ground between us. A sense of ease comes with seeing Jean. Not that I’m calm but at least I’m not panicking. 

Jean walks to me. He looks over his shoulder and scans the trees. I do the opposite and look solely at Jean in his jean jacket and green flannel. I focus on his face, at his eyebrows scrunched in focus and his lips in a slight frown. His shoulders are tensed up towards his ears and his hand that’s not holding his flashlight is curled into a fist at his side. 

I just want to go home. I want to go back to our little apartment and watch anime in bed with ridiculous amounts of barbeque chips. I just want to hold onto Jean without letting him go, without letting him wander away from me in the dark woods, without letting him get killed by a neighborhood psychopath. 

Jean locks eyes with me and his slight smile gives me strength. 

Then Jean disappears. 

The ground beneath me collapses with a snap. I’m falling and the slight light that Jean had is gone. I don’t know if my eyes are opened or closed. I’m falling for what feels like forever into darkness. The panic in my head locks my bones in ice and clamps my jaw shut. I can’t even scream I’m so scared. 

My body slams onto cold, hard dirt. My face bounces off the ground and a shooting pain bursts in my face. I don’t know if the gun shot off or it’s just a bang echoing in my ears. 

My breath coughs out of me a moment later, sounding like I’m choking on a gut punch. I roll onto my shoulder and groan as sharp pains pierce at my side. I can’t tell if they’re sticks and rocks or my bones poking out of my skin. I breathe slowly as every movement feels like jelly and my head feels full of worms. 

I continue to roll until I’m on my back, I groan again at the pain. But I can see the sky, the trees, the stars in the darkness seem to rotate slightly as I stare at them. Either the earth is moving really fast or my head is spinning. 

A bright light blinds my view of the sky and I wince at it and then my head pounds at the sudden movement. I raise my hand at the light. I hear a voice call my name through what sounds like water.

Am I dead? 

Wait, no. I know that voice. 

I’m snapped back to reality. 

I sit up frantically and a wave of nausea makes me feel like I’m about to pass out. But I swallow the feeling and look up at my boyfriend behind the flashlight. I can’t make out the features on his face but at least I can recognize his voice.

“Marco are you okay?” Jean asks. He looks like he’s miles away. My arm over my head looks desperately far from my boyfriend. 

Wait, no. He’s not miles away. Just focus. You busted your head, you probably have a concussion. You just have to stand up and Jean can help you. You must’ve fallen. There’s dirt and leaves all around you. It’s like a hole. You fell into a hole. Just stand and you’ll be okay. 

My brain struggles to grasp the situation as I continue to stare up at Jean kneeling miles above me. I’m gonna be a doctor. I should be able to take care of myself. I swallow and I taste blood. Everytime I blink my head pounds. My limbs feel like bundles of straw. I don’t know how I’m going to stand. 

“Grab my hand,” Jean says above me. I notice that he looks over his shoulder. Oh shit, right, we’re being followed by a murderer right now. Time is of the essence. 

I try to take a deep breath through my nose but my nostrils are completely blocked. Shit. I probably broke my nose. That’s gonna make things more difficult. I shake my head and try to get my legs beneath me. I notice that the hole that I’ve fallen into isn’t all the big. It’s big enough for me to lay down with my arms stretched above my head, but that’s about it. Why is there a human sized hole in the middle of the Jaeger woods? 

My slushy brain freezes for a moment as the realization comes to me. Oh my god. 

Panic finds my body again. Thankfully, with panic and fear comes adrenaline and cortisol. Which means it gives me enough energy to claw myself to my feet and ignore the reverberating pain in my head. 

My breath quickens with thick blood in my throat, I feel like I’m breathing with mashed potatoes coating my esophagus. I frantically look up at Jean and his outstretched hand. But even with as far as the both of us can reach, we still can’t get to each other’s hands. Maybe this grave is deeper than I thought. 

“Jean,” I whine as I feel my muscles scream and my bones pop from reaching so hard. This isn’t going to work. 

“Come on baby, I got you,” Jean says as he dangerously lowers the upper half of his body further into the hole to reach me. But it’s still not enough. 

The fear of helplessness brings tears to my eyes as I look frantically for something to pull myself on. I hiccup my breaths as my shaking fingers fail to grab anything that won’t crumble beneath my hands. 

“Wait,” Jean says as he starts to take off his jean jacket. He holds one of the arms and lowers the other side of the jacket to me. “Come on, you got this.” 

I frown at the coat. What if it rips and I only fall to hit my head again that’ll completely know me out. But I don’t think I have any other choice here. 

I grab the jacket as far up as possible and try to dig my toes into the dirt walls to push myself up. Each of my steps only dig deeper into the earth, I’m only making the grave deeper for myself. I choke on a sob. 

Jean’s pulling with everything he can on his end. The jacket digs into the ground around the edge. Jean’s heels drive themselves into the grass as he pulls. I blink up as dirt continues to fall towards me. 

Just as I feel myself grab hold of the first steady piece of earth, everything breaks. The ground beneath Jean’s feet fling chunks of mud at me. My hand rips open what seems like was the only thing that was keeping this grave from filling in on itself. 

Jean falls back as the ground around him collapses inward - into me. Soil pushes me back into the grave and buries me alive. In a matter of seconds the walls of the hole break free and fill every part of the empty space with me in it. 

Whatever moonlight I see disappears behind the earth. My screams are buried away with the rest of me as my mouth fills with dirt and grass. Every flinging and desperate movement I make is trapped and forced into stillness as I’m buried underground. 

I’m going to die. 

I can’t breathe I can’t see I can’t scream I can’t move. I’m trapped. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die and they might never find me. My family will never know what happened to me. Jean’s alone. Jean’s watching me being swallowed alive. He could be killed. The gun’s gone, buried somewhere with me. He’s in the woods alone with a murderer and no weapons. He’s gonna die. 

I was going to be a doctor. I wanted to save lives. I was going to get married. I wanted to have kids, a dog, all that cliche stuff that people made fun of. I wanted that. I wanted it with Jean. I was happy. I was happy. My life was good. I was happy. 

Now I’m dying in a hole with dirt in my lungs and no way to save myself. 

A burst of pain explodes over my face and I would scream if I could. I open my eyes. I’m able to open my eyes. I can’t breathe. I still can’t breathe. I’m going to see the light fade away from the earth as I die. 

Next thing I know, I’m bent in half coughing my brains out. My arm is over Jean’s leg as I puke dirt into more dirt. 

Once I’m done coughing, my breathing is more like hyperventilating. There’s still so much pressure. It’s still so hard to breathe. But by the looks of it, the top quarter of my body is uncovered from the earth. 

I’m alive. 

Jean’s frantically clawing fistfuls of dirt away from my torso. He’s crying and digging and panicking. I find that I can lift my arms and do so to grab handfuls of his shirt. I’m not letting go of him. Not if my life depends on it. 

With my arms around Jean’s back I can feel his wheezing breaths come in rapid succession. Somehow he finds the strength to wrap his arms around my torso and yank the rest of my lower body out of the ground. 

We fall back as my body is completely free. But that’s not enough for Jean as he scrambles to pull the both of us further from the filled pit not trusting any of the ground around it. 

He rolls me on my back and looks down at me as he sobs. “Marco, Marco, talk to me baby,” he hiccups. 

I stare up at him with my body limp in shock. I’m conscious, I know that, but my brain seems to be a go-kart crashed into a wall of tires. No words come to my mouth. I’m somehow alive but I feel like I’m dead. 

Jean buries his head in my chest crying something to himself. He then looks up at me. “We got to go baby, they probably heard us,” he says. This time he doesn’t wait for a response. He lifts me until I’m sitting up and then takes one of my arms and wraps it around his shoulders. 

My body responds decently and I manage to grab a hold of his shoulder and get my feet positioned under me as he helps me up. 

“Can you walk?” Jean asks with exhaustion in his voice. I nod my head. Jean takes the answer for what it is and leads us deeper into the woods. 

The more we walk, the more my body acts on its own. I’m walking mostly alone with an arm still wrapped around Jean because I don’t want him to get any farther from me than he already is. 

It’s still so dark. My eyes feel more adjusted to the lack of light at this point at least. But it’s still too dark to navigate properly. 

“Fuck-” Jean curses quietly as we trip over a tree branch. “We need light.” I stick my hand out palm up. Jean understands and hands me his phone. “You sure you got it?”

I easily open his phone and turn the flashlight on. I don’t honestly know how I’m doing this. Maybe it’s the pinnacle of survival hormones. I can feel my brain moving like honey on pavement but my body still responds easily. And yet, I still haven’t been about to manage a word to my mouth. That must be the shock that’s messing me up. 

Jean guides us as I direct the light at the ground in front of us. We’re moving pretty slow but that’s better than nothing, or being dead. 

Something glints in the white light from the phone. Jean notices too and stops. 

“What the fuck is that?” he asks himself. He unwraps my arm from his shoulders and I panic and grab the fabric at his shoulder. Jean looks up at me and a pained expression crosses his face. He takes my frantic hand and laces it in his. “Don’t worry, I got you.” 

I don’t say anything and continue to hold Jean’s hand as he squats in front of the object. He tilts his head. “Is that blood?” he says. 

I try to focus on the sharp thing on the ground but my vision is pretty screwed. My eyesight seems to have gotten three times worse all the sudden. Everything is blurry and distant, I couldn’t make out what we’re looking at even if I tried. 

“What the fuck?” Jean mutters, “Is this a fucking bear trap?” 

I squint at the object. And with my imagination filling in the holes of what I can’t see, I can probably distinguish an open bear trap on the forest floor. 

Jean stands back up and away from the thing. He looks over his shoulder and takes a deep breath. “Let’s keep going, and we need to be careful.”

I frown looking at the woods in front of us. And as if God were looking down on us now for the first time this evening, I think I can see the blurry shape of a building down the path. 

I shine my light at the structure and Jean curses in joy. 

We walk to the barn. I just now remember that we’re here for Ymir. Something pounds inside my head and I stumble from the pain. Jean helps me stay up and on course. I breathe through the pain hoping that the adrenaline continues to serve as a painkiller for a bit longer. 

We make it to the barn. But unlike Connie’s colorful title for the place, it seems nothing like it’s cracked up to be. The ‘Love Barn’ is really just a barn. It’s got rotting wood panels and smashed windows. This place doesn’t look like it’s seen any love in years. 

Jean and I make anxious glances at each other. Jean shakes his head and reaches out for the pull on the barn door, it creaks open gently. 

Jean pokes his head inside. “Ymir?” he calls into the darkness, “It’s Jean and Marco, you here?”

Nothing. 

Jean shrugs and we enter the barn and shut the door behind us. 

Instantly, the smell of something burning makes the pounding in my head worse. I groan and lift a hand to my head to try and ease some of the pressure. I feel like I’m going to collapse. 

“Here,” Jean whispers. Now that we’re inside everything seems so loud. The only noises inside the wooden walls are creaks from the wind and the sounds of me and Jeans breathing. Jean holds his hand out for his phone. I give it to him. 

He examines the barn with the flashlight. And just like the outside, the inside is discernibly barn-like. Piles of hay line half the barn in separted piles in pins. Old, aged tools hang on the walls and stack against each other. Rakes, shovels, hoes, picks, hand-saws, hammers, and anything else have been left to expose and rusted away from its original self. 

Power tools pile haphazardly on the other side of the barn. A lawnmower, blower, a couple of chainsaws, a trimmer, and some other tools that I can’t make out also look like they’re rotting away. 

Jean freezes when his light shines on a body laying in the middle of the barn floor. 

I freeze. Now a familiar fear paralyzes me as I stare at the body, unmoving. I don’t let my brain think. If I think, I’ll panic. I do my best to keep myself together as Jean steps cautiously towards the person. 

Jean takes a glance at me over his shoulder, and then back at the body. 

He kneels next to it, leans down to look at their face, and then recoils back to stand with his hands over his face. 

My breath leaves me and I do my best to not completely collapse back on my ass. I fumble for the wall behind me and sink to the floor. Tears well up in my eyes and my brain screams in pain. I know that recoil of panic at this point. They’re dead. Of course they are. This can’t be happening.

Dread fills my gut. My chest tightens and tightens, my breathing hurts, my head hurts, my everything hurts. 

I stare at Jean as he runs his hands through his hair and turns to continue looking at the barn, searching. He pauses and goes to pick something off the ground. But I’m not paying much attention to him at this point. My body is falling apart and my mind is right behind it. I lose my senses as my eyes rest on the body on the floor that’s barely visible without the light. 

My chest hiccups. I lean my head back on the wall as exhaustion makes my body feel two times heavier. How are we going to make it out of here alive? 

Light illuminates from where Jean’s fiddling with something. He stands as he shakes out a match with a lit gas lantern at his feet. The entirety of the barn fills with a glow of light. 

My breath picks up again with anxiety. Oh god, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t panic like this anymore, it’s pushing me to insanity. 

I weakly roll to my knee and reach out for the lantern. What if the killer sees us? We can’t do this. We can’t do this. 

Jean takes my hand and comes to sit quietly next to me leaving the lantern to burn.   
“It’s okay,” Jean says as he blocks my worried gaze towards the light. He lifts a hand to my face and it really fucking hurts but I don’t want him to let go. “It’s okay,” he says again, his face falling to look like he’s both deathly afraid and completely exhausted. I sit back against the wall and look at him as tears spill over my cheeks. I don’t dare to make a sound but I can’t keep the tears from coming. 

“I don’t think any killer is out there,” he says softly. I stare at him, my expression blank except for the tears, my brain like dead leaves in frozen snow. “There isn’t a killer out there,” he says more definitively.

I don’t ask. I can’t ask. I blink more tears over my cheeks and look back at the body. Something inside my chest snaps. Whatever connection that the brain has to the heart is now severed. I stare at the body as if it’s like the rusted power tools around it. It’s just like everything else. It’s normal. It’s fine. Everything is fine. 

I lick my bottom lip, it tastes like grime, sweat, and blood. I try to clear my throat. Mashed potatoes. I blink heavily. I want to go to sleep. 

“Ymir?” I ask with barely a voice to my question. 

Jean nods and massages my fingers in his hand. “Yeah,” he sighs. 

We sit there in silence for a while. The tears eventually stop. But I don’t stop looking at the body, at Ymir. I’m sitting propped up on the barn wall barely holding myself together. I imagine I won’t make it much longer like this if these things keep happening. I wonder how much longer any of us have at this point.


	9. Just Stop (Sasha POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **written by: thesketchytepe**

12:33 AM 

As their feet pounded against the forest floor and the chilly night wind whipped at their skin, Sasha couldn’t get the sound of that distant shot out of her head. That was Jean and Marco and the killer. They were out there somewhere, fighting for their lives. Her stomach ached at all the possibilities that could’ve happened just then. Marco was carrying the rifle when they left—did he shoot the killer? Was he dead? Did the shot go up in the air or in the trees and didn’t hit anything at all? What if something got mixed up and now the killer had the gun? Was Jean or Marco—?

She slapped a hand to her mouth and swallowed a painful groan. No, God, please no. Historia was already dead and Ymir was still missing. No more can happen tonight; she couldn’t handle another drop of blood. She didn’t know what she’d do if something were to happen to anyone else.

The same thing started to happen when she found Eren stumble through the door with Historia in his arms: reminiscences crashed against her mind like the waves of a hurricane, overwhelming her senses and drowning her in fear and mourning. Memories of Marco’s smiling face and kind promises and helping hands made her eyes water, but the recollections of Jean made her chest crack and a sob escape her throat.

She didn’t have anything against Marco, of course not. She loved him with all her heart and thought he was a literal angel that she had the honor to meet, but she’d known Jean longer, had more memories with him. They went to the same school together along with Connie, Eren, Mikasa, and Armin. She remembered the several trips to the mall she took with Connie and Jean, munching on giant pretzels while copying poses the mannequins made in each store window. She recalled that time Jean spent the night at Connie and Sasha’s apartment and he mistakenly fell asleep before them—Connie had placed large googly eyes on his closed eyelids while she snapped a few pictures, holding back her giggles as much as she could. She treasured the times they’d pick up fast-food and then go to the park or their apartment or even just sit in the middle of a parking lot. They’d talk about everything and anything as they nibbled on their burgers and the feeling of complete ease and happiness that’d sat in her chest couldn’t compete with anything else.

All these memories weighed heavily in her stomach and she gripped at her sweater, feeling the unbearable pain that sat there and the loss of oxygen to her brain. She slowed her pace to try and catch her breath, but Connie tugged on her hand harder.

“C’mon, Sash,” he whispered. “C’mon, we’re almost there.”

She huffed and began running again.

I can’t do this, she whimpered to herself. I can’t keep going. We’ve been running forever; I feel like I’m gonna pass out. I can’t even tell where we’re going.  
She peered into the blackness. She could see Connie dragging her behind him and the faint outlines of Reiner and Berthold ahead. Her eyes flew around them wildly to catch anything else besides the dark pine trees or crumpled leaves beneath her feet. But it somehow made her head swirl even more, twirling into an oblivion that punctured her stomach and made her limbs twitch toward safety, wherever that may be.

A sudden flash of heat swiped across her face and her left leg grew a mind of its own and jerked to the side. She tripped over her own foot and she fell forward, collapsing onto Connie’s lower back. He crashed onto the muddy ground and she landed on the back of his short legs. A grunt left Connie’s lips and Sasha could hear Reiner and Berthold stop dead in their tracks before running their way back to them.

“You guys okay?” Berthold whispered at the same time Reiner muttered, “Get up, you two.”

Sasha’s hands trembled as she weakly grabbed at Connie’s legs. He attempted to get back up, but was pulled back each time he tried.

“Sasha, come on, let’s go,” he mumbled, twisting around to look at her.

She didn’t budge. It was too much, the pain in her stomach, the pounding of her head. She was losing her breath and sweat was pouring from her in rivers. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking and she felt random parts of her body twitching like she was a bug that got stomped on by some curious toddler, left out on the pavement in the boiling sun.

Underneath her, she felt Connie’s legs stiffen in fear before they shuffled around so that he was now hovering over her. He pulled at her arms and then gently flipped her over with her head in his lap. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to focus on her breathing as he pressed a hand to her forehead.

“Oh my God, she’s burning up,” Connie gasped.

“She’s been running forever and she’s scared shitless,” Reiner replied. “Of course she’s burning up.”

She heard the crunching of leaves and another presence lean over her.

“Sasha, are you okay?” came the small concerned voice of Berthold. “What’s wrong?”

A tear slid down her temple which felt extremely cool against her skin. Her left hand jolted as she tried to wipe it away and her limb ended up smacking Connie’s knee. “I feel so gross,” she panted. “I’m so hot and-and I can’t breathe and my head hurts. My stomach hurts too. But oh my God, Jean’s out there. Jean and Marco…” She sobbed quietly to herself.

Connie began poking at her; Berthold shifted around in the leaves next to her.

“You think it could’ve been something she ate?” Berthold asked.

“She had all sorts of things tonight,” Connie answered. “Ho-hos, soda, Reiner’s brownies, corn dogs. She downed that whole bowl of popcorn Eren made.”

“Does this happen often?”

“She eats a lot, but she doesn’t get sick too much. She’s had food poisoning a shit ton of times.”

“This isn’t like that!” Sasha cried, opening her eyes. She saw Connie’s golden brown eyes flick around her face like the panicked wings of a baby bird and Berthold’s long face peek into her line of vision. She could dimly see the twinkling of the stars above the trees and the heavy darkness crowding around the corners of her vision.

I feel like I’m losing myself, like I’m slipping away, she thought to herself. She held up her hands close to her face so she could get a good look at them. They twitched and grabbed at the air on their own free will and her fingernails were a ghostly white. They looked like zombie hands as if she were trying to dig her way out of this hellish grave that was the darkened woods.

“My hands, they won’t stop shaking. I’m so fucking tired.”

Her hands fell to her face and, at the same time, her hip flinched upwards and her right leg shifted to the side. Another twitch stabbed at her bicep and her right leg jolted again to the side.

Connie grabbed at her hands as she started twitching uncontrollably. “Oh my God, is she having a seizure?”

“N-No,” Berthold whimpered, though the uncertainty was clear in his voice. “It would be more violent, right? Maybe it’s a convulsion of some kind?”

“Why the fucking hell would she be convulsing right now?”

“Listen,” Reiner spoke up, voice low. “You need to quiet down and we need to get going. We can’t just stay here.”

“We can’t just go either,” Connie fired back. “Something’s wrong with Sasha.”

“Did you not hear the fucking gunshot? We have to get going now.” He growled the last word like a cornered dog.

“Sasha can’t go anywhere like this. We-We have to do something!”

“We’re closer to the barn at this point,” Berthold said. “Should we take Sasha there and then go out and find Jean and Marco if they aren’t already there?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Reiner agreed.

“No, but, wait—”

Reiner had no care for whatever argument Connie was trying to conjure. He bent down and then Sasha felt herself being lifted into the air, still flopping around like a fish out of water. She loosely grabbed onto his collar and peeked over his giant shoulder. Berthold was on his feet, clutching the shotgun tightly in his huge hands. Connie’s frightened stare never left Sasha as he scrambled to his feet and began sprinting after Reiner as if he wanted to be the one to carry Sasha to safety.

Her ponytail flapped wildly in the wind and the cool breeze felt nice against her burning skin. But that obviously didn’t fix her aching stomach, twitching limbs, or painful headache. She covered her mouth with her other hand and squeezed her eyes shut again.

What’s going on? I haven’t felt this sick in a long time. What type of sick am I? My stomach started hurting shortly after we decided to put a movie in, but I ignored it. People’s stomachs hurt all the time and it turns out to be nothing. Was it really something I ate? It can’t be food poisoning, right? Everything I ate came from a wrapper or sealed can. I did have some of Reiner’s brownies and that whole bowl of popcorn Eren made, though. But Reiner, Berthold, and Connie had the brownies too, and they seem fine. Eren’s popcorn came from a bag, right? I didn’t taste anything different from other bags of popcorn I’ve had in the past. But I didn’t see him make it…

Her eyes began to burn as more tears clawed at her close eyelids, trying to dig their way out. It was all too much; her shattered heart couldn’t take anymore. Can’t it all just stop? Why was this happening? So many catastrophes in a row and it didn’t look like things were getting any better. Who was this crazy killer exactly and what did he want? Was he just going for Eren or was he after all of them? Nothing was making any sense.

Please just sto—

Boiling heat leapt to her throat as fast as Reiner was running and, despite her hand covering her mouth, she couldn’t hold back the mess that pushed its way past her tongue and clenched teeth. A sickening choking sound escaped her as a thick liquid spewed all over her hand and squeezed pass her trembling fingers. It felt warm in her palm and she could sense a few little chunky pieces stuck on her lips.

Reiner had stumbled to a stop; Sasha felt like a roasted chicken with its head cut off once the cool October air no longer brushed against her sweaty face.   
“Ugh, fuck,” Reiner spat. He didn’t sound angry but surprised as if he couldn’t believe Sasha just puked all over him. Normally she’d be humiliated, but, given the circumstances, embarrassment didn’t even flicker across her mind.

Just as she peeled open her eyes again, those stinging tears flowed down her cheeks and seeped between her fingers. Reiner shook his blond head and then peered at her, his expression a mixture of shock and fear. Because she was so close to him, she was able to see through the darkness well enough to notice the deep red spatter that was sprinkled across his jawbone, neck, and his white T-shirt underneath his brown leather jacket.

Her eyes widened. Deep red?

She pulled her shaking hand away from her mouth and saw the black mess that completely coated her palm and fingers and wrist. It was very warm and sticky and, upon closer inspection, she found the mushy remains of tiny popcorn bits smashed against her skin.

“Oh my God,” she sobbed, feeling more soggy pieces drop onto her collarbone as she moved her lips. “Oh my God.”

Berthold and Connie stopped as well. “What, what?” she heard Connie’s panicked voice. His feet scuttled around Reiner to peer at Sasha. “What’s going—” 

She didn’t see him—she was too shocked to turn her head his way—but she heard the horrible gasp echo into her eardrum. “Is-Is that blood? Oh my God, is that blood?”

“We have to get to the barn,” Reiner muttered, “right now.”

“B-But Sasha—”

Reiner wasn’t about to get into another argument and just started running once again. Sasha’s leg twitched and kicked his hip, but he kept on going, holding onto her tighter. As she stared at her bloody hand, she felt her head pulse with agony, her arm twitch against Reiner’s chest, her sweaty hair sticking against her face, and the terrible feeling of betrayal punch her in the gut, making her want to throw everything up, cut out her stomach if she had to.

She lost it all; she felt it gush out of her like the sudden twist of a faucet. Her sobs grew louder and her limbs started flying as if she were trying to get away from the poison inside of her. Her body twitched and jerked around, but Reiner held onto her with such strength that he could’ve easily snapped her back in half if he wanted to.

“He’s trying to kill me!” she shrieked. “He’s inside of me! He killed Jean and now he’s going to kill me!”

“Sasha, be quiet,” Reiner hissed but the words bounced against her skull. Her brain was on fire and no wash of rationality could save it.

“Get him out of me!” she screamed into the dark. “He’s going to kill us all! Oh my God, please make it stop! Just stop, please!”

She cried and cried the longer they ran which never ended; these woods were a labyrinth, changing their destination like the flip of a switch each time they got closer. The dark that surrounded them oozed into her thoughts like an infection and stained any positive idea that might’ve been stuck in there. This couldn’t be how she was to die. It was so sudden, so violent. Why did he do this to her?

“Berthold, get the door!” Reiner’s voice eventually reached her ears after what seemed like an eternity.

Sasha’s heavy head turned to the left and she could dimly make out a square structure. The darkness clouding the corners of her vision prevented her from seeing any details of the building, but she knew it to be the love barn that Ymir was supposed to be hiding in.

Berthold, who had been running beside Reiner, pumped his long legs even harder and, soon enough, he was far ahead of them, plunging himself into darkness to get closer to the barn’s door. Sasha listened to the loud creaking of the old door being shoved open and Berthold’s tall, skinny form eventually came back within her sight as he held it open for her, Reiner, and Connie. She could barely make out the rifle shaking in his hand and the terrified look he carried in his puppy-dog eyes before Reiner sharply turned into the barn.

It was much lighter in here than it was outside—it wasn’t bright like a fully-lit home, of course, but the lantern on the floor casted Reiner’s gigantic shadow across the room and Sasha could vaguely spot out shovels and brooms lining against the wooden wall and the large barrels of hay scattered about. The smell of something burning wafted up her nostrils like a summertime barbeque. Just as another surge of pain pierced into her temple, she heard someone new call her name, though it sounded as if she were underwater and this person was at the edge of the pool, beckoning her back to come up for air. It was low and frightened and then she heard their heavy footfalls as they raced from somewhere across the room.

She twisted around in Reiner’s arms. She knew those footfalls from anywhere—she always made fun of him for it, walking with his heels as if he were the giant that came to snuff out Jack and his skyscraper of a beanstalk. His horse face eventually came within her blurry vision and she could’ve died of happiness at the sight.

“Oh my God, Jean, you’re alive!” she squeaked, her voice hoarse from screaming and crying. “Thank God you’re alive.”

“What the hell happened to you?” he demanded of her. His eyes were as big as golf balls and his teeth were clenched in the coldness of fear. “Are you okay? Why-why are you covered in blood? Sasha?”

“She’s sick,” Reiner responded for her as he gently lowered her down onto the cold, hard ground. “I don’t know how, but she just started puking blood and she keeps on twitching like she’s having a seizure or something. There’s something wrong with her.”

Her quivering hand grabbed at Jean’s sleeve as if she were a baby discovering that she had limbs for the first time. “Where’s Marco? Is he okay?”

Jean’s hand was freezing (thank God); he gripped her hand, her life, and held on tightly. “Yeah, he’s…he’s okay. He’ll be fine.”

“I’m here, Sasha,” Marco answered at the same time Jean spoke. He kneeled into her line of sight and her heart stopped for a moment. Dark spots caked his clothes and pieces of dead leaves were stuck in his hair. A shaky line shaped his round nose and more dark spots dripped from his nostrils. Was he shot? Was that blood? But when Marco moved around, she saw those dark spots had shape to them and were solid.

She then breathed a sigh of relief. It was dirt. He was covered in dirt.

Connie then fell to the floor, completely out of breath, and grabbed Sasha’s other hand, her bloodied one. He squeezed tightly and she noticed that he was on the verge of tears. “You’re okay, Sash,” he whimpered to her. “We made it. You’re gonna be just fine.”

“What the fuck happened?” Jean asked Connie and Reiner. “Did something happen to the cars? Why the fuck are Connie and Sasha here?”

“Fucker slashed the tires,” Reiner growled in panted breaths. “We thought using the car alarms would distract the guy for a moment while we ran here.”

As he filled Jean and Marco in, Sasha felt the freckled boy poke and prod at her body, dripping with all sorts of disgusting fluids. He asked her questions that a doctor would ask at a checkup: “Does this hurt?” “What was the last thing you’ve eaten?” “Take a deep breath.” She answered him the best she could and obeyed his every command, but everything was becoming darker and heavier.

She looked around the room as Marco tried his absolute best to fix her. The Love Barn wasn’t really showing a lot of love. There were tools everywhere and she felt itchy lying on all the spare hay scattered on the ground. Marco had brought the lantern closer to her, so everyone could fully see the absolute disaster Sasha had become.

She finally noticed that Berthold wasn’t hovering over her like the rest of them. Her eyes searched for him, using the pulsing light next to her to her advantage. They landed on the space between Jean and Marco and found him crouched down with an arm in his hand. The arm belonged to a tall body also lying on the ground. Her eyes squinted, peering into the blackness. Hazily, she noticed how red the hand seemed to be. Not bloody kind of red, but like a burn kind of red. Splotches of purple zigzagged along its fingers. The body was dressed in a black leather jacket, ripped jeans, and checkered Vans. Berthold’s body was shielding Sasha’s view of the body’s face, but she already knew who it was. After all, they had come for her.

“Ymir—” she tried to call out but was interrupted by another surge of blood rushing up her throat. She whipped to the side and let it splatter onto the concrete beside her, some of which stained Connie’s knee. All the boys crowding around her made some terrified noise in response to her condition: Jean jerked back and cursed but never once let go of her hand, Marco yelped and pulled her hair out of her face (her ponytail had come undone and the band was probably stuck somewhere in her locks), Connie’s gasp sounded more like a hiccup and she felt a tear splash against her cheek, Reiner hissed through his teeth and peered down at her worriedly, not really sure how to help.

They began talking over one another and Sasha sobbed for the hundredth time that night, calmness going right out the window. Ymir and Historia were dead. They will never go on that Europe trip they both had worked so hard for and they’d never marry. They were now corpses who died in the same grave together, in this hellhole that was the Jaeger cabin and woods. The killer had made his mark; he sent his message across as clear as day.

They were all going to die, and he was working on Sasha now.


	10. Where to Go From Here (Jean POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **written by: blueTshirts
> 
> Also brief TRIGGER WARNING in this chapter for self-harm **

12:51 AM 

This can’t be happening. This can’t. This must be some kind of shock, right? Like psychosis or something? Doesn’t that happen to people in traumatic situations? 

I stare down at Sasha, my friend, my sister, someone I’d easily jump in front of a bullet for, and that list has no more than a few names on it; she’s falling apart. Images flash in my mind of the millions of zombie movies I’ve watched with my two closest friends and remember what people look like as they’re transforming into the undead. 

The blood, the sweat, the confusion, shortness of breath, twitching limbs and crying out for their loved ones. Sasha lays in front of me likes she’s resorted to complete disarray. She’s covered in her own blood and puke. Her eyes barely focus on Marco as he’s trying to get her to look at him. Her amber irises flitter behind her eyelids or wander aimlessly around the dusty wooden walls of this hellhole. Her body moves on it’s own as her knee continues to straighten and release on its own. Her shoulder tenses forwards and the corner of her mouth pulls down. Her fingers twitch in my grasp. I hold on as tight as I can so her seizing muscles won’t take her hand away from me. 

“What’s happening?” Connie cries, his voice hitching in the back of his throat as he tries to fight back tears. He looks up at Marco, begging and pleading, hoping that the poor second year medical student can help. But I can tell that Marco doesn’t know. He’s terrified. I can see it in the way he continues to do the same things over and over again like something’s finally going to work. 

But it’s not. Nothing will work. Just look at her. 

“Marco!” Connie screams. 

Marco shakes his head looking down at Sasha with the same hopeless dread that I feel. He looks at Connie. Something inside my gut flips and twists. Marco’s given me that look before. Once. It was so long ago that my brain feels like it’s stumbling amongst unwanted buried memories and the severe stress of this singular moment. At least it feels like it was a long time ago.

A little over two years ago. I was in the hospital. I’d cut myself so bad that the blood wouldn’t stop. It wasn't like I busted an artery or anything, but I needed stitches and a psychiatrist to slap me in the face. It was the one semester I went to college. Worst time in my life besides Marco. He came to see me in the hospital. He hadn’t known any of the things I was going through. I never told him. Sasha and Connie brought my new boyfriend to see me without asking me. 

He looked at me with those eyes. Those pretty brown eyes that lost all signs of fight. He was so overwhelmed with shock, fear, pain, that he couldn’t come up with a way to give me strength or hope. He was lost that day. The Marco that I’d started to fall in love with, the Marco that saw life as an opportunity to help people, that fought even when it was time to give up, that was willing to try harder and stretch farther just so that the people around him that couldn’t would succeed, my Marco, had lost himself. 

He looks at Connie now like he has nothing left to give, that there’s nothing he can do, that there’s no hope. 

My brain short circuits. It stops working. The fear, the pain, the stress, it all stops. I watch Sasha give into her body’s convulsions and fall into a full out seizure. Her eyes roll into the back of her head and her body vibrates with twitchy movements. Marco moves to roll Sasha on her side and hold her head in his lap. Sasha’s hand slips out of my loose grip. My fingers are left hanging in the air unoccupied. 

Sasha is dying. She’s dying like the rest of us are doomed to. Marco was nearly killed. Ymir’s dead. Historia’s dead. The car’s are dead. The phone lines are dead. 

Our future is fate at this point. 

I hear Connie yelling at Marco, at me, for Sasha. 

Sasha’s body stops moving. As quickly as it started it’s stopped. Sasha’s head is turned away from me. All I can see is her hair in a messy bunch with stray pieces of straw and leaves stuck in it. She’s no longer moving. None of her. Not even the jerky twitching. She’s completely still. 

Connie leans down to her face, his trembling, blood slick fingers do their best to softly move strands of hair from her face. He’s calling to her. Hoping for a miracle. We all are. But if a miracle were to happen tonight, it’s lost its chance. 

Marco searches for her pulses, again, and again. 

He shakes his head. His beaten head that had just got repeatedly bashed with solid ground not twenty minutes ago. He’s in pain. He’s been in pain even as he’s trying to help Sasha. But he’ll do what he can to save her. He always will. 

Marco flips Sasha again onto her back. 

Her eyes. My breath hitches. Historia and Ymirs eyes flash into my mind. Open, dull, lifeless. 

Sasha’s dead. 

Marco props himself over Sasha and curls his fingers together to start chest compressions. Connie’s screaming, crying, praying for someone to save one of the only people he’s loved in this world. 

But Marco knows his efforts are futile. He knows. Look at this. There’s blood everywhere. Sasha’s innards are probably in no better shape than Historia's bludgeoned guts. But still he tries, if not for Sasha then at least for Connie. 

I watch Marco put whatever remaining energy he has into reviving Sasha. Sweat drips from his temples to his nose. His chest heaves exhausted breaths and his scratched and bruised arms shake with every compression. 

I watch until I can’t. 

I slowly lift my hand to grab loosely onto Marco’s biceps. He ignores me. My heart deflates. I turn to look up at Reiner who’s standing back near Berthold. Reiner has his hand on Bert’s shoulder who’s crumpled on the ground. Reiner has this stiff expression on his face. He knows just as well as I do. 

I swallow and turn back. I fist my hand into the material of Marco’s torn shirt. 

“Marco,” I say. I’m not sure if he hears me. Connie’s wheezing sobs fill the barn. I pull on Marco’s shirt again. “Marco, stop,” I try to say a bit louder. There’s no fight to my words. Somewhere in my head I don’t want Marco to stop. But we can’t do this for the rest of the night. Sasha’s gone. 

Marco doesn’t stop. He keeps going. Tears collect with his sweat and drip onto the bloody stains covering Sasha. He’s losing his rhythm, even if the compressions could work they wouldn’t now. Marco’s getting sloppy, he’s getting tired, he’s coming to his senses. 

I grab his elbow that easily gives as I pull him towards me. Marco collapses into my lap as his back shakes as he cries. I wrap my hands around his back and his head to try and sooth his exhaustion. He hides his face in my jeans. Maybe he doesn’t want to see another dead body, maybe he doesn’t want to see the horrible look on Connie’s face. 

Connie’s cries have stopped. The panicked screaming and frantic yelling has died into a frozen silence. He looks at Sasha, his eyes bloodshot to hell and swollen with tears. He stares at Sasha with almost a smile on his face. It’s a horrifying mix with the tears still streaming down his face. His hands hover over Sasha’s stilled body like he doesn’t know what to do with them. He knows there’s nothing he can do either. 

I watch Connie. My chest hiccups with a cry. I sympathize with my friend. He’s an arm’s reach away from me and I can feel the pain radiate off him in waves. His partner in crime. The person that made him feel loved despite all his insecurities. The person he became better for, the one he wanted to be happy more than himself, the one that he’d rather die for than let be killed. She’s gone. 

He blinks once more tears spill over his cheeks. He lowers his hands to grab his knees, he hangs his head between his shoulders. 

“Connie,” I say. I lift a hand to reach out to him. To hold his hand or pat his shoulder or rub his back, anything to know that he’s not alone right now, to make sure he’s still in reality. 

He doesn’t give me the chance. Connie stands in a swift movement and turns on his heel. He goes straight to where Berthold and Reiner are standing. Marco perks his head up as he notices the sudden movement. 

“Connie, man-” Reiner starts but Connie doesn’t give him the chance to support him either. He shoulders his way between the pair and reach to the floor where the-

“Connie!” I yell twisting frantically and scrambling to stand on weak legs. I lunge towards him. Reiner doesn’t realize what Connie’s doing until he sees my reaction and then proceeds to do the same in stopping the kid. 

But Connie’s fast and quickly breaks into a run when he hears me. He books it around Reiner and to the door with the shotgun that was at Berthold’s side. 

Reiner reaches to grab the back of Connie’s shirt but misses. Reiner stumbles but continues a step behind me. Marco and Berthold are both yelling at Connie from deeper inside the barn. The air is thick with tension and humidity of heated breaths. My chest crackles burst of painful energy. I feel like my body is getting sick of this shit. 

Connie reaches the door and immediately pushes it open. But the slight pause gives Reiner enough time to leap forward and grab the hatch lock above Connie's head and pull the door back to close. 

Reiner nearly body slams Connie but stops just clear of him, mindful of the obvious shotgun in Connie’s hand. 

“Fuck off Reiner!” Connie screams as he shoulders the door in the small pace under Reiner. 

“Drop the gun idiot,” Reiner barks back. 

“Connie-” I start before stumbling back when a shotgun barrel almost whacks me in the face. 

Reiner leaps back too when the double barrel shoves right at his sternum. Reiner and I stand with our hand held up staring at Connie as he aims the gun between the twos of us. 

The temperature in the barn drops. 

“Connie,” I manage to say with only a slight tremble to my voice. “Don’t be stupid, we can get out of this together, alright?” 

“Just like we fucking escaped the house together? Because we’re all doing great, aren’t we?” Connie growls back, his aim raises to my face. “Don’t try me right now Kirstien, I have nothing else to lose.” 

My chest echoes with another hollow ache of pain. He still has me. “So you’re going to kill me?” I ask through gritted teeth. 

“If you get in my w-”

A massive hand slaps down over the barrel of the gun and is ripped out of Connie’s hands. Reiner heaves the thing over his shoulder to hold it like an upside down baseball bat. 

“Don’t try me right now either, dickhead,” Reiner says, baseball bat gun held at the ready. 

Connie’s eyes lower into a glare. He looks from me to Reiner and then to someone over my shoulder. I glance back to see Marco standing behind me ready to jump in at any moment. I wince at my disheveled boyfriend looking beyond repair as he continues to protect the people he loves when it looks like he can barely protect himself. 

I look back at Connie. 

“What am I supposed to do Jean?” Connie asks his resolve finally falling apart completely. 

I feel tears burn behind my eyes as Connie starts to fall apart in front of me. His hands lift to clutch his head. He bends to scream at the top of his lungs. 

I flinch at the noise, but Reiner swoops a hand down to grab Connie’s face at his mouth to shut him up. 

“Shut the fuck up!” he yells, ironic. 

I grab Reiner’s arm and yank him away from Connie. “Let him.” 

Reiner shoves at me but I don’t let go. “If the killer didn’t know where we were before he sure as hell does now-” 

“There’s no killer,” I say with my attention still on Connie. His scream ends in choking sobs, he coughs around thick saliva and empty lungs. He stumbles forward and I go to grab him. 

I try to hold him and hug him and cry with him but he pushes me away like an angry cat. He sobs as he elbows me and pounds on my chest. I move around him to hug him from behind trapping his arms at his side so he stops clawing at his head. Connie still tries to wiggle out of my grasp but he gives up and falls to the ground with me on his back. 

He cries and cries. I keep my chin hooked over his shoulder and my arms wrapped around him. My own eyes leak with tears and my throat aches with strain. 

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” I say until I can’t say it anymore. “I’m here Connie, I got you.” 

It takes a while for Connie to come down, but no one rushes him. We all need the time. Sasha has died right in our hands, and Ymir has been dead for who knows how long. We need time to regroup, to give our brains and our bodies a break, to give up fractions of moments to mourn. 

Connie sits bent in half with me sitting behind him rested over his back and my cheek flat against his spine. I almost fall asleep. I feel like I could sleep forever. 

I notice Reiner’s boots shift in front of me as he sits on the floor with me and Connie. He looks at me with a frown on his face. 

I sit up, releasing Connie only to keep both of my hands on his back. I rub his shoulders and the planes on either side of his spine. He doesn’t move. 

“What happened to you guys?” Reiner asks. 

I sigh. Right, I guess we have to talk about that now. 

I let my eyes rest and follow my hands against my friends back. I don’t know if I’m helping. All I know is that Marco does this to me whenever I’m upset, whenever I don’t want to talk but I want to be comforted. 

I glance over at Marco who’s sitting with Bert. Neither of them are talking. The two sit against the wall of the barn away from Sasha’s body. Bert has his head hung low as he fiddles with something in his hands. Marco stares aimlessly at his feet. He blinks slowly as he looks like he’s about to pass out. 

He’s got to be in so much pain. Physical pain at the very least. I can tell you that everyone in this barn is far too emotionally broken at this point. But Marco nearly died not even an hour ago. He fell into a pit almost seven feet deep, busted his nose, and then was buried alive. 

My stomach curls. God I’m gonna have to repress the shit out of that horrible memory. I almost thought I’d lost him. 

A chill runs up my spine. 

I look back at Reiner. “Things got kind of fucked up.”

Reiner rubs his lips together. “Tell me about it,” he mutters to himself. “What about the gunshot? Was that you guys?”

My stomach leaps again. Another thing I’m trying to forget. I thought Marco had accidentally shot himself. Thankfully only the ground had suffered a gunshot wound. 

“Uh, yeah, we-”

“Did you see the killer?” Reiner asks. 

I stare at him for a moment with a curl of my lip, I’ve lost my patience and I’m not about to get interrupted every five seconds by a depressed mountain. 

“Marco fell into a trap,” I say, “There was a, like, open grave in the woods. The gun went off when he fell.” 

“Oh,” Reiner says, but then he squints, “But did you-”

“We didn’t see the creep,” I say before Reiner can ask again. 

He nods. I see him glance at our significant others. “Is that how…” he trails off as he gestures towards his face. 

I glare at him. I really don’t want to fucking talk to him right now. “Yeah.” 

He nods again. His slow Frankenstein brain tries to process what I’ve told him and he finally asks a valid question. “Wait, why was there an open grave in the woods?” 

“Fuck if I know, dipshit,” I mutter as I give up on massaging Connie’s back and rub my hands down my face. I stink of blood and dirt. “It was rigged with, like, collapsing sides. As I was trying to pull him out, the sides caved in like they were being held together by something. The grave filled up in a matter of seconds.” 

Reiner tries to focus on me but his eyes gravitate to Marco. He stares at Marco like he might transform into the undead at any moment.

“But, how?” he mumbles. 

Exactly. Not only are the mechanics of a self filling grave questionable, but also why is it in the Jaeger woods to begin with? Not to mention the bloody bear traps near the barn. 

I don’t answer Reiner. I don’t have an answer. If there was a plausible answer to anything that’s been going on then we might have a chance at surviving tonight, but even that might be hard to come by. 

“Is he okay?” Reiner asks in a hushed tone. 

The image of Marco’s face as I pulled him out of the ground flashes behind my eyes. I thought he was dead. Maybe brain dead. He wouldn’t talk, he wouldn’t make eye contact with me, he wouldn’t move, he wouldn’t do anything. I thought that his skull had taken too much damage to repair. But somehow the kid was able to stand and stumble to the barn with me. He didn’t talk until we found Ymir. After only a few minutes of rest that he gave himself, did he get back to work. He made his way to Ymir to inspect the burns over her body, he assumed that she was electrocuted. And then adrenaline must have hit him again when Sasha and crew busted into the barn. I don’t know how he’s holding himself together. 

No, Reiner. I don’t think Marco’s okay. But who is?

“He’ll be fine,” I lie. 

He nods again, I don’t know if there are actually any thoughts running through his head though. 

“We need a plan,” he says as he continues to talk in a quiet tone. I don’t know who he’s hiding from, we all need to figure something out. “Plan A is scrapped. So not only can we not use our phones, but we can’t drive anywhere, and,” he pauses to make a concerned look at Connie, “we’re falling apart quickly.”

My brain moves like week old snow melting over an empty parking lot, dirty with horrifying images and decaying with insanity. I’m not sure if I can come up with something that’s going to save us. The smartest brain in the room is now busted with a concussion and frozen with shock. I’m constantly relying on Marco to help me pick up pieces to solve the puzzle, but this time I’m left with panicking Berthold, reckless Reiner, and mortally damaged Connie. I don’t know if I can do this. 

Connie slowly raises from his fetal crouch on shaking arms. “The longer we stay here the sooner the killer will find us,” he says with a torn and broken voice. His throat must be ripped to shreds from all the screaming and crying. 

“Exactly,” Reiner says, “We’re going to have to come up with something quick or we’re dead meat.”

I shoot a burning glare at Reiner. I know I’m not the most tactful person on the planet but Reiner could be a little more sympathetic. 

I roll the events of the night through my head. First, Historia and whatever happened that killed her. Next, Eren was stabbed. Next, Marco almost died in a trap. Next, Ymir who was probably electrocuted. Next, Sasha who was possibly poisoned. 

Cabin in the middle of the woods. No cell phone service. Power in the cabin is out. Car tires are slashed. No escape. 

No one besides Eren has seen the killer. 

I chew on my bottom lip and my eyes gravitate to Sasha. Connie has draped his coat over her. Her legs lay across the dirty barn floor covered in hay. This wasn’t an accident. Food poisoning is not deadly. Something happened to Sasha, something intentional and malevolent. 

The grave trap isn’t something someone can just whip up in a matter of hours. That takes time, a shit ton of manual labor, and a fucked up mind. 

The bear traps could possibly be chalked up to a coincidence. We are in the middle of the woods. I’m sure Eren’s not too concerned keeping up with chores around here. 

Even the shit wires in the barn could be a terrible accident too. But something in my gut is telling me that shit’s not right. 

I look at Marco. 

“I don’t think there’s a killer out there,” I say. Marco’s eyes open. He looked like an old, over-loved teddy bear resting limply against the wall. He watches me and waits, waits for everyone else to start asking questions. 

Reiner’s first to the catch. “What do you mean there’s not a killer? You think everyone’s getting killed on their own vices?” 

I look at Reiner. “I didn’t say there wasn’t a killer, I said that I don’t think there’s a killer out there,” I say with a point at the barn door. “I think the killer is back at the cabin.”

“You don’t think he followed us?” Reiner asks. 

I sigh. “I don’t think there’s a random psycho killer at all.” I pause feeling my heart pick up at the possible sign of a fight. “I think the killer is one of us.” 

Reiner’s face twists into confined rage. “The fuck you hinting at, Kirstein?”

“Don’t get your g-string in a knot fuckface, I’m not saying it’s any of us,” I say thinking about the other people stuck in the cabin at this moment. Armin looked sick. I mean he did get sick when Historia’s body was brought into the cabin, but he already looked like he was going to pass out the moment he walked into the house. Annie clung to his side and was ready to throw fists with anyone who even looked at her man. 

“You think one of our friends is trying to murder everyone?” Reiner asks with a continued fury like it’s going to intimidate me into changing my mind. 

I raise my eyebrows and say plainly, “Yeah.” 

Reiner shakes his head and stands walking to the end of the barn and back to me on the floor. “Are you out of your fucking mind? Did you run into a fucking tree?” Reiner takes another step towards me and reaches down to grab at me. 

“Reiner-” Bert calls from where he’s sitting. Right as Reiner stops, a hand comes to lock around his wrist. Connie glares up at the mountain of a man with his hold on him, protecting me. Moments ago, Connie was ready to shoot me. 

Reiner glares down at me like he’s about to throw me out of the barn and leave me to fend for myself. Maybe he should and I can prove that I’m right. 

“We’re all messed up,” Bert says standing from his spot and shuffling slowly towards the three of us. I notice that Marco continues to sit in his place. I don’t expect him to run over and get involved, I’m just concerned that maybe he doesn’t have enough energy to do anything. “Be a little considerate,” Berthold adds as he takes Reiners arm from Connie's hold and pulls his boyfriend away from us. 

“Yeah, we’re all messed up, but that gives him no right to start blaming murderous acts on his friends,” Reiner says with spit flinging from his snarl. 

I look up at him plainly. I don’t care if he gets worked up about this. It’s not like it’s going to help anything. I’m only thinking of the most probable explanation to all of this. And once we can do that, maybe we have a chance of surviving. 

“Think Reiner,” I say standing. My knees wobble a bit from the awkward position I’ve been curled up in. “Although I know it might be hard, but give it your best shot.” 

Reiner pulls on Bert’s restraint but his boyfriend holds steady. “You little-”

“Think,” I say ignoring him. “Why do you think there was a rigged open grave in the middle of the woods?” I stare at him making sure he knows that I’m not toying with him. “How do you think Sasha got so sick so fast? How was a live ground wire wound carefully to a light’s pull string?” 

I watch Reiner’s raging demeanor simmer into confused anger. His thick skull doesn’t process information too quickly. 

I glance at Ymir’s body coated in shadows on the barn floor. “Why do you think Eren lied to Ymir and Historia about the state of the Love Barn?”

Berthold’s face falls. His wide eyes drop to the ground and over to his friend's body. Reiner blinks.

I add to my accusations of our friend. “How do you think Eren found Historia’s body, carried it back to the cabin, and outrun a savage murderer in such a short amount of time?” 

“You don’t know anything, Kirstein,” Reiner curses. 

I shrug, “Maybe not, but you know Annie, right?” Reiner makes a look at Bert and then back at me. “Why would she refuse to leave the cabin if she knew her friends were in danger?”

Reiner continues to blink at me, his expression faded to an almost desperate hardness. As if he wants me to be wrong but he doesn’t know how to combat me. 

He knows I’m right. 

“Wouldn’t Annie go wherever she thinks she’s needed most? Like, wherever the most danger is?” I tilt my head at him. Stupid fuck. “Why would she deem that it was more dangerous inside the cabin, than outside?” 

“She’s probably just wants to protect Armin-”

“She would be protecting Armin if she could take care of things outside. But she knows she can’t because she needs to be inside the cabin, with Eren.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous-”

“Is it so ridiculous?” I ask as my voice raises. “Please, I would love to be wrong but it’s hard to think around it, isn’t it?” 

“You think Eren slashed the car tires and stabbed himself?” Reiner asks like it’s absurd. 

“Yeah, I would say it sounds like him.” 

“You’re actually insane,” Reiner laughs. “Your hate for Eren has gotten so out of control that you honestly think he’s a psychopath? You’re serious?” 

“It’s a little too great of a coincidence that all this crazy shit just so happens to come along when all fucking tweleve of us are here.” 

“You can’t just call someone a murderer based on fucking supersition, Jean!” Reiner yells like I can’t understand English. 

“It’s not just superstition!”

“You have no fucking proof-!”

“Alright.” A shout from the wall echoes over Reiner. We look over at Marco who’s rubbing his eyes carefully over his swelling nose. “I already have a massive headache and neither of you are helping,” he grumbles as he stands shakily using the wall to help prop him up. 

I go to help him but he raises his hand to stop me. 

Eventually he stands, mind the slight sway he tries to stop. He rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “Whether Jean is right or not we still need a plan, arguing about this isn’t going to fix anything.” 

Reiner crosses his arms over his chest. “Then what do you suggest we do ‘O Wise One?” 

Marco makes an ungrateful look at Reiner. I outright glare at him. 

“I don’t know, Reiner,” he sighs, “I’m just saying - fighting is a waste of time.” 

Marco wobbles over and I watch him as an ache echoes in my chest at his condition. He’s not going to be able to run if it comes to it.

I’ll kill a son of a bitch that even comes near him.

Marco stands next to me and rests a hand on my shoulder to hide the fact that he needs something to help him stand. Everyone knows Marco’s not in a good condition as much as he tries to pretend he’s not. Connie stands on the other side of Marco, just in case. 

“If Eren is behind this, then he knows everything. He’s probably watching us now. There’s no winning. If Eren is not behind this, then we’re still not safe no matter what we do, and we only get closer to being found every moment we waste,” Marco says. His words slur and saunter together like he can’t articulate correctly. I make a nervous glance at him. 

“So? What do we do?” Reiner asks. 

“Use your fuckin’ brain ya dumb Big Bird,” I say. Marco squeezes my shoulder. 

Reiner doesn’t even seem phased at this point. 

“The highway seems like the best route still, even if we don’t have a car,” Berthold says popping his knuckles. 

“The main road is only about three quarters of a mile away, it’s not too far,” Connie says, “That parts still seems like a solid plan, we just have to be careful in case of more traps or anything.” 

“You guys are right,” I say scratching my jaw. “Getting help is still the best thing to do right now. You three take the gun and Marco and I will head back to the cabin.” 

“Why would you go back to the cabin if you think Eren is the killer?” Berthold asks. 

“He’d be stupid to start killing us when we’re all there,” I say. 

“What if he’s already killed them?” Connie asks. I look at him and the genuine darkness in his eyes takes the breath from my lungs. 

I take a breath. “Then we’ll give you guys more time to get help.” 

Silence settles over the five of us. 

“You sure about this?” Reiner asks oddly concerned. He looks at me, then to Marco, and back at me. “If you’re fucked up thinking is right, then you aren’t going to have the upperhand.” 

“I’m not letting you and Bert split up, and I want Connie to be on the safe route, and there’s no way I'm going anywhere without this bag of bones,” I say lightly elbowing Marco’s ribs. 

Marco huffs with a smile, “Thanks.”

Another awkward silence filled with terrible fear and crippling dread. 

“Alright well lets just fuckin’ do it and try not to fuck it up this time,” Reiner says. 

We get situated. Reiner makes sure both of the guns are loaded properly. Bert is crouched next to Ymir with his hand over her head that’s covered with someone's flannel. Connie kneels next to Sasha sliding a bracelet off her wrist. I decide to let him have a moment. 

Marco and I linger next to the front door while the other three are to use the side door. Marco leans against the prickly wood with his eyes closed. I stare at him shamelessly, trying to remember what his face looked like earlier tonight, before we went into that stupid cabin. The smirk as he waves a fake bone in my face. His concentrated face as he looked for his dumb face wash. The moonlight that contoured his face in glowing highlights. 

Now he’s broken, busted, beaten. His eyes are sunken with exhaustion. His nose swollen with red bruising, dirt and dried blood. His body is worn and limp hanging on the end of a thread with the last remnants of adrenaline running through his body.

Connie jogs up to us wiping the back of his hand over his eyes. “Uh, don’t-don’t get hurt, got it?” he says as strong as he can manage. 

I smile at him. “You too, dude, I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, okay?” 

He nods as his breath hiccups in his throat. He presses his lips together gesturing at Marco and gives me a pointed look. 

“Don’t worry,” I say, “I’ll kill them.”


	11. On the Ride to the Gallows (Annie POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **written by: thesketchytepe**

12:03 AM 

The sudden slamming of the front door yanked Annie out of her deep sleep like a fishing hook jerks an unsuspecting salmon out of water.

Her eyelids peeled open to the darkness of the bedroom. She unfolded herself and stretched her arms to the side, her shoulder blades clicking back into place. A silent yawn escaped her as she pushed her tangled locks out of her face. Her body shifted to the bedroom door which was left slightly ajar and waited for more sounds—the opening and shutting of the coat closet, the dropping of keys into the dish on the side table, maybe the switch of the hallway lights as Armin moved around the tiny living room and adjacent kitchen. But none of those happened. Just echoing silence.

Annie turned to her phone resting on the nightstand and checked the time. 9:04 PM. It wasn’t that late, but Annie was already tucked into bed and had been asleep for almost an hour now. She’d been up since three that morning—she got up to study for an exam she had later in the day and went for a run around five (she ended up running three and half miles and, when she went to the academy at seven, had to run an additional three more). She was tired and sore to say the least and was ready to crash into bed once school let out, but remembered they were running low on some food and other necessities, so she automatically went grocery shopping afterwards.

Armin had sent her a text around the time she finally got home. ‘Just finished dinner and heading over to Eren’s now. Might be home late. See you in the morning?’ 

She knew he had plans with Eren and Mikasa; they scheduled this a week prior because it was the only day Armin wasn’t working at the library this week and Eren’s social service rep allowed him to go out (a short thirty-something year old man named Levi began watching over Eren shortly after Zeke’s arrest for the hospital murders; Eren had been getting all sorts of crap from the town for being related to the guy and authorities thought it’d be for the best if he had someone to keep track of him for everyone’s sake).

Annie responded with a subtle ‘K.’

‘Okay. Goodnight. I love you :)’

‘Love u too’

She then stuffed a sandwich down her throat and hopped into bed. But Armin texted her not even an hour ago; she was expecting him to come back around ten or eleven, or he might even change his mind and stay the night at Eren’s.

He didn’t stay for too long at all, she thought to herself as she put the phone back down and pulled the covers towards her chin. I wonder if something happened.

She waited for him to come in, but she didn’t hear anything that suggested otherwise. Was he just standing there in the living room? Did he even come home? Was the door slamming just her sleepy mind playing tricks on her?

Her eyes grew heavy once more and she was about to fall into the wonderful land of sleep again when the bedroom door finally creaked open. She didn’t move or acknowledge that she was awake in any way; she only peeked one eye at Armin’s small figure in the darkness, slowly moving around with a strangely terrified look on his face.

She blinked and squinted through her bangs. He was on his phone; the light radiating from it was dim, but it was enough for her to see how unbelievably wide his eyes were. His thick eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, his lips were pursed into a thin white line, his cheeks were bright red, either from the cold outside or from running home. She focused on his big blue eyes, at all the fear that they carried. Her vision was able to catch what he was looking at through the reflection in his eyes—he kept on switching from some darkened picture to a conversation he was having with someone. Or rather who he was waiting to have because his fingers weren’t flying across the keypad.

Confusion and interest found its way into her brain as she let out a groggy, “What are you doing?”

“Shit!” Armin jumped out of his skin and nearly dropped his phone. His wide gaze landed on Annie and his tense shoulders melted somewhat as she rubbed at her eyes.

“Geez, Annie,” he sighed. “I thought you were asleep.” He subconsciously shuffled over to her and sat on the bed. He lightly pecked at her forehead and began rubbing her bare leg that poked out from beneath the sheets.

“I thought you were at Eren’s. You’re back earlier than I expected.”

“Uh, yeah, I…” He trailed off, glancing to the side and back at her again. “I forgot I have an eight AM class and figured I should, you know, get some sleep before then.”

That made sense for Armin, the most studious and responsible person Annie knew—she didn’t think even Marco, a close second, would think that getting a full eight hours of sleep was important. But that didn’t explain the petrified expression on his face.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just tired.” He smiled sweetly at her. “But I’m sure nowhere near as tired as you. I heard you got up around three this morning. Voluntarily. How do you do that?”

He then inquired about her day. He asked how her exam went and thanked her for picking up food on the way home. They talked like that for a while and she almost forgot about the fear that was probably bubbling in his chest right now.

He told her he’d be right back and headed for the bathroom, taking his phone with him. She situated herself into a comfortable position and waited. He walked back out about fifteen minutes later, went to his dresser, and proceeded to get dressed for bed, throwing on an oversized T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants with Trost University’s logo going down the side.

Before he got into bed, he stared at his phone for another five minutes. She saw his eyebrow twitch in frustration when he apparently didn’t get what he wanted. A low yet anxious sigh escaped his lips. He placed it on his own nightstand and then snuggled up next to Annie.

They were facing each other, legs brushing up against one another. Annie had her eyes closed for a moment, feeling Armin’s warm breath against her nose, but she eventually opened them back up to find him staring intently into space. He had the covers pulled to his chin and he never blinked, his gaze stuck somewhere in the folds of the covers.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head slightly, not looking at her. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“You look like you’re going to be sick. What’s wrong?”

His stare dragged back up to meet her eyes. He did what he did earlier: distract her, guide her mind in another direction. Manipulate her into thinking that nothing was wrong like he said, even though it was clearly not.

He smiled as gently and charmingly as he could and whispered, “Everything’s okay. Just go back to sleep, sweetheart.” He then placed a kiss on the tip of her nose and left the ghost of a smile as he shut his eyes. 

She stared at him a moment longer. She knew it was working, for her mind reminded her of how beautiful his soul was, of how incredibly lucky she was. She knew that he wanted her to be happy and to not worry or panic about anything. She knew that, if he could, he would rip his heart out of his chest, pumping and bleeding, and offer it to her even if it so much as made her smile back. She didn’t know of any other love greater than his; what a lovely sun he was, giving her life and another reason to be thankful for the light he shined on the darkest of places.

But then his smile wavered and she steered back into that dark place he was trying to avoid altogether.

She sat up and flipped on the lamp sitting on her nightstand. She turned to Armin, who was blinking at the sudden light filling up the room. He looked up at her, but before he got the chance to run his mouth again, she pinched his cheek, her thumb grazing his teeth, and dragged him into a sitting position.

“Ow, ow, ow, stop!” He grabbed at her wrist and tried pulling her hand out of his mouth, but, naturally, those noodle arms of his carried no such strength.

She glared at him. “Stop fucking lying to me and tell me what’s wrong.” She dragged each syllable out, making each word count, making them deadlier.

He blinked at her and visibly shrunk into himself.

“Something obviously happened at Eren’s house,” she went on in the same annoyed tone, “and it scared you so much that you left within an hour and can’t get that horrified look off your face, no matter how hard you try. Now tell me what’s wrong, or do I seriously have to do the pitiful thing and look through your phone to find out what’s so damn interesting?”

She let go of him and he flinched away, rubbing at his cheek. Her glare never faltered.

“I thought we knew better than to keep secrets from each other, Armin.”

His shoulders slumped at her comment, weighed down by guilt. His eyes searched at their legs underneath the covers wildly as if an answer would magically appear to assist him in winning this argument.

“I…need to think it over before saying anything,” he mumbled in a small voice. The fear was evident in his tone; he was a timid mouse, scurrying around in his labyrinth of a brain, desperately searching for a way to flee the worst scenario.

She crossed her arms and leaned against the headboard. “Then think it out loud and make it real.”

He looked at her, but the longer he stared, the more scared he got. His eyes slowly widened and his chest rose as he held back his breath, perhaps even a scream. He was visibly crumbling before her and he barely had enough strength to whisper out, “I think Eren helped Zeke kill those people.”

It was now her turn to blink at him. Well, she certainly wasn’t expecting so big a claim as that. She dragged her tongue against the back of her teeth and prompted, “Why would you think that?”

“Because I found something under Eren’s bed that only an accomplice of murder would keep.”

Her eyebrows scrunched at the odd way he constructed that sentence. Something that only an accomplice of murder would keep? Was he talking about souvenirs of victims that serial killers kept? She reached for that file in her brain; she had taken a few classes on the psychology of criminals and their behavior and the information was still fresh in her mind. She didn’t think she’d have to pull it out for Eren, though.

“What did you find?”

He paused before turning to his phone. “I saw a box poking out from beneath his bed and, when Eren and Mikasa left the room, I pulled it out.”

His fingers trembled as he pulled up an image, probably the same one he was ogling earlier. He gingerly placed the device in her hand and watched her as she peered at his phone.

She saw a small cardboard box with a bunch of random crap in it. There was a checkered scarf, a glasses case, some jewelry, a wallet, keys, and a worn-out notebook. She didn’t find anything unusual about it until she swiped to the right. Armin’s pale and bony fingers were holding up a golden ring and an opened locket sat in his palm. The name Maria was engraved on the inside of the ring and a picture of some unknown woman and man was tucked into the locket.

She swiped again. The scarf had the initials D.F. embroidered into the corner of it. Swipe. The driver’s license still sat in the leather wallet and brought up a picture of a woman with long blond hair—her name was Rose. Swipe. Attached to the ring of keys was a school picture of someone’s kid—it was wrapped in a plastic frame and the words “Happy Father’s Day!” was scrawled beneath the child’s smiling face. Swipe. “Oncology” was written in black sharpie on the purple notebook with the name Sina scribbled near the top right corner. Inside was all sorts of medical notes and quick little sketches of body parts.  
When she swiped again, she frowned and blinked at the photo. The thin, round glasses that sat in their case had a crack in one of the lenses. Beneath them was a handkerchief with a golden G.J. sewed into it, just like the scarf.

Before she could ask about it, Armin whispered out, “Those were Grisha Jaeger’s glasses, Eren’s dad.”

Her gaze landed on him once more. He was now looking at his phone in her hands as if it were a ticking bomb. He hugged his knees to his chest and she saw the tension in his arms tighten. He mumbled under his breath, almost as if he were in some trance.

“I couldn’t find any names on the locket or set of keys, but the names on everything else matched up with the ones that were murdered at Trost Hospital: Dina Fritz, Rose Brown, Sina O’Neil, Maria Moser. Even Eren’s own father. How could he get his hands on the personal items of those other nurses and doctors? Why would he even keep them there, underneath his bed in a dirty old box? All the victims, excluding Mr. Jaeger, were found with all sorts of toxic chemicals in their bloodstreams like mercury, lead, dioxin. Zeke had easy access to all sorts of drugs because he worked at the same hospital with those victims. He even admitted to separating the poisons and inserting them into the victims. He buried them in the woods surrounding Eren’s family cabin. Mr. Jaeger was the only one found with a bushed-in skull, his face beyond recognition if he didn’t have his wallet on him when he was buried.”

Tears glistened in Armin’s eyes. “Eren wouldn’t have those things unless he helped Zeke with the murders. Why would he keep them? If Zeke acted alone and had those belongings with him and Eren found them, he would’ve turned them in, right? Why would he want that reminder of death so close to him at night? I knew Eren and his father never really saw eye-to-eye, but I didn’t think he would murder him.”

He drew a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “I left as soon as I could. Eren looked confused, but I told him I wasn’t feeling well and would call him in the morning. I’m pretty sure he bought it; I don’t think he suspected anything. I texted Mikasa on my way home, telling her to stay away from Eren and to leave the house as soon as she could. But she hasn’t answered me yet, and she’s usually quick when responding. It makes me think…that she knows. She knows and she’s not doing anything about it.”

“Why would she keep quiet about it?” Annie spoke up.

He looked back up at her and sighed, moving his jaw around. “Because she’s been madly in love with him ever since she first laid eyes on him.”

That much was obvious; one would have to be blind to not see that. She was always at his side and did everything for him, whether he appreciated it or not. Whenever strangers asked them if they were a couple, Mikasa’s entire face would bloom a tomato red color while Eren dumbly replied, “No, she’s my sister.” It was hard to tell if Eren was just that oblivious or if he didn’t feel the same way and tried avoiding it at all costs, but Annie knew Mikasa would do just about anything and everything for him, apparently even murder.

Oh, the crazy things people do for love.

Annie dropped Armin’s phone to her lap. “Should we call the police?”

Armin bit on his lip. “I don’t know. I’m not sure if that’s strong enough evidence and even so, my fingerprints are now all over that box.”

“So would Eren’s.”

He put his face in his hands and leaned forward, his forehead landing on her thigh. “I don’t want him to be the killer, Annie.”

She saw his shoulders shake and she went to rub his back, but he snapped back up like a rubber band. His wide eyes were damp with tears, rolling down his round cheeks. His lips quivered as he whimpered out, “It can’t be him, it just can’t. It can’t be the same boy I met at five-years-old, who chased down a couple of kids giving me a hard time, running and screaming like that’s the only thing he knew how to do. He’s always stood by my dreams and supported me throughout my entire life. He attended my parents’ funeral, he stayed up with me until four in the morning, talking about our futures and our pasts. He’s always been there for me and I thought I knew everything about him, even more than Mikasa does. But I don’t, not anymore.”

His body slumped and the tears continued to fall, but he didn’t make a sound. He was so shocked, the thought of Eren growing up to follow a path so dark and so twisted that Armin couldn’t keep up with him never crossed his mind.

“Why would he do something like this?” he mumbled to himself.

Annie’s mind peeled open that file and read off the cold, hard facts. Childhood trauma? Mental illness? Maybe he was manipulated by Zeke? Yet she knew she should be the good little girlfriend and lie. Tell him everything’s alright, that this was some huge misunderstanding and Eren had some rational explanation for all of this.

But she loved him too much to do that.

She shut Armin’s phone off and leaned pass him to set it back on his nightstand. “Call Levi tomorrow and tell him your suspicions,” she said as she sat back down. “You don’t have to say anything about the box, but only that you think the murders are getting to him and might be affecting his mental state. Levi will deem him as a potential threat to himself and those around him and might put him in the hospital for a seventy-two hour watch or something like that. He can reach Eren’s therapist too, I think. Maybe they’ll catch something before he becomes dangerous.” She paused. “If he does.”

He looked at her with his sad, sad eyes as if she were a puppy that got ran over by a car and left by the curb to die. “Do you think he killed them?” he whispered in a broken voice.

She hesitated. Her eyes peeked at his hands gripping the sheets and then glanced back up at him. “I’m not sure.”

His expression didn’t change right away. He stared at her some more, desperately, anxiously. His gaze eventually lowered, and he let go of the crinkled sheets to wipe at his eyes. He took a few deep breaths and then went silent for a while longer.

“Okay,” he simply said before slipping into her arms and drifting back into the darkness.

\---

The sudden ringing of the car alarms yanked Annie out of the memory like how a violent wind would drag the flightless baby bird out of its mother’s nest.  
Her head snapped toward the ceiling of the basement as if the blaring car was right there. Her chest rose in nervousness, yet she made sure to lock her jaw to keep from gasping aloud.

“What was that?” whispered Eren’s voice.

“That’s someone’s car alarm,” Armin clarified, his voice shrinking as the minutes ticked by.

“Why do they have that on? What does that mean?”

“I-I don’t know.”

Annie looked back down at Historia. They probably can’t get away for whatever reason. Maybe that was the “distraction” they needed to make.

She went back to shrugging out of her coat and lightly draped it over Historia’s stomach, the messiest part of her whole body. She noticed Armin getting squeamish at the great sight of blood on their friend, so she decided to cover her up—and to get a closer look at her body.

She didn’t stray too long (she didn’t want Eren to get suspicious of her) but was able to identify certain clues. On her left calf and left arm were deep puncture wounds in the shape of big shark teeth. It didn’t tear up or down her skin like how an animal’s would, but only sunk deeper into her flesh. It was as if something was holding her down, and this something wasn’t a human or an animal—the wounds would’ve been messier, made her bleed more.  
Before she had covered up her torso with her jacket, she discovered right away that she was stabbed several times around her chest and stomach with such force and strength that she was honestly surprised she didn’t leave a bigger stain on the couch. Historia was a tiny girl, and it must’ve been extremely easy for the killer to do the job. Dirt and leaves were tangled in her golden locks and her fingernails were coated in black as if she were trying to crawl away or out of whatever was holding her down.

What Annie was sure of was that Historia suffered for too long and had fought for her life, but ultimately lost that battle.

She turned around and went back to her place by the wall opposite of Historia, alongside Armin. Mikasa and Eren sat on the loveseat beside Historia’s corpse, stiff as nails. The car alarm continued to go off and, to be frank, Annie was a little grateful for the periodic break of silence that was quickly filling up the room.

Some time had passed before Eren spoke up again: “I can’t believe this is happening. This is so much worse than the usual taunting I get in Trost. Like, for God’s sake, Historia is dead! How fucking crazy do you have to be to do that?”

Armin had looked up at Eren but went back down to staring at the floor. “People make bad decisions when they’re angry or scared.”

“But this isn’t anger, Armin. This is…absolute fury. A hatred unlike any other. I mean, I just…can’t believe it.”

Silence (excluding the car alarm) swam between them with the same slow taunt that a great white shark would make, the same one who ate Historia. Eren couldn’t keep his mouth shut for long, however: “I never thought this hatred would go this far. Why are people mad at me for something I didn’t do? I hear it all the time in interviews, down the street, I even get random phone calls and texts from people everywhere. They want me gone, they want me dead, even though it was Zeke who did the actual killings. Even Levi won’t let me out of my own goddamn house—I was lucky enough to convince him to let me come here.” He sighed. “Well, ‘lucky’ isn’t really the right word to use here.”

“Eren, none of this was your fault,” Mikasa reassured. She gently laid a hand across his. “You didn’t know.”

“I just…” He paused and tried again. “I just wish my mom was still alive. None of this would’ve happened if she didn’t die.”

His hand retracted from Mikasa’s; he swiped at his eyes. “Zeke was close with my mom too, despite us being half-siblings, so he took it pretty hard. But my dad spiraled into this deep depression. He stayed at the hospital for long hours and stalled in coming back home. He always wore this exhausted expression whenever I saw him, and we eventually stopped talking to one another. He would never answer me back. He once told me he and Zeke got into a lot of arguments at the hospital over mom’s death. Yeah, I could understand Zeke’s feelings about it, but she was my mom. She was my dad’s wife. Zeke…there’s no excuse for what he did. Why can’t the court just kill him already, so I can be done with all of this shit?”

Mikasa stared at Eren like he was the only thing in the room—Armin and Annie weren’t cowering in the corner of the room and Historia’s bloody body wasn’t laying a few feet from her and the car alarm from outside didn’t tell her to be worried for their friends, running around hopelessly out there in the woods. Armin never once looked up at Eren; his blond hair shielded his face from Annie’s vision. She could tell he was trying his best to ignore it all, but that was nearly impossible, especially at a time like this.

Eren finally pulled his hands away from his face. It was still as dark as coal in the basement, but Annie had been down there long enough to see a little bit more clearly. His jaw was locked and his eyebrows were furrowed as if he were trying to hold back a scream or a cry. She could see his nostrils flare a little as he reached for his phone on the coffee table in front of him.

Light exploded in his face once he turned on the device. His thumbs moved around and Annie could see something shift around in his hazel eyes. 

Something reflected against them, something was moving.

Annie bit on her tongue.

“Is your phone working?” she asked him.

“No. Is yours?” He didn’t even flick a glance in her direction. Instead, images continued to dance across his eyes and his thumbs continued to fly.

She replied in the same bored tone that he gave her: “No.”

Mikasa peeked over his shoulder and frowned. She plucked the phone out of his hands and turned it off.

“If your phone doesn’t work, then stop messing with it,” she said as she set it back down on the coffee table. “No use to run in circles.”

Eren huffed but didn’t say anything.

A lightbulb flickered in Annie’s mind. Her eyes glanced around them, but she made sure to not move her head around like some confused bird. She peeked at the corners, at the darkest parts of the room. She had to squint and wait for her eyes to adjust some more, but she eventually found them. Little black dots that resembled something like a smoke detector were attached to the ceiling and, as far as she was concerned, there might’ve been others hiding in less obvious places like somewhere on the TV or near the bottom of the couch.

There it was—more evidence to prove that Eren was the cause behind all of this.

She leaned her head against Armin’s shoulder and, with his head already down, she was able to whisper into his ear without the prying eyes of Eren and Mikasa taking note of what they were doing. “Eren’s phone is working. I think there’s cameras in the room. He’s probably watching the others right now.” 

She thought of Reiner and Berthold. Did they have any idea of what was really going on? Probably not, knowing them. Their minds were most likely stuck in the moment, and had forgotten to think of the future or to question Eren’s legitimacy. If anyone were to pick something up out there, it’d either be Marco (another academic all-star) or Jean, who was surprisingly alert of his surroundings despite drowning in his own pity-party all the time. She hoped one of them would eventually figure out that there wasn’t anybody else lurking in the woods; the monster was here in the cold, dark basement.

Armin didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t even move and Annie wondered if he was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to even hear her in the first place. But he finally turned his head in her direction, his lips brushing against her hair.

“We have to get that phone,” he murmured back.

“I’ll distract them. Call Levi when you get the chance.” 

He stayed quiet. His body slowly grew stiff the more she talked. She didn’t want to tell him this—it only proved his theory right all along. The Eren they knew was no more; a demon dressed in sheep’s clothing had taken his place.

“It’ll all be over soon.” She buried her nose into Armin’s hoodie. “We can go back home and try to forget.”

Home. A place where they were safe, warm, and happy. They didn’t have to pretend or look for an escape or do anything for that matter. They’d just recede back into their own little world and live their lives in the way they wanted to. She wanted to get off this ride, this long, bumpy ride to the gallows. She felt like she was waiting by the sidelines and watching them tie up the noose for the witch to slide her neck into.

She closed her eyes. I want to go home.

She then felt Armin’s cool fingers slip beneath her chin. She didn’t bother to open her eyes and she let his lips fall onto hers, gentle yet persistent. It was long and slow, the kind of kisses that she liked, the ones that meant something. She returned the comfort and wished it wouldn’t end. But, like with everything else, it did.

He didn’t pull away, but instead kept his small lips near hers, breathing her in and breathing her out. Her own lips titled up in the slightest. It quickly fell when his breath trembled and the shaky words dropped into her mouth like dynamite: “I love you.”

She flinched and scowled. Her eyes flew open only to find a broken man behind Armin’s ocean orbs. Hope was brimming in the corners and threatening to fall once again. The sight shattered her heart and the pieces caught on fire.

“Don’t,” she growled. She wasn’t going to let him say goodbye, not like this. There was no need; everything was going to be fine. 

She felt his fingers slip away as she backed up and got on her feet. Mikasa looked over at her, but her gaze was trained on Eren.

“Eren, we’re gonna need some sort of weapon to protect ourselves with if the killer somehow gets in the house,” she stated in a monotone. “Does your dad keep another gun down here?”

He opened his eyes. They practically glowed in the dark like a cat’s. “No, he only owned two guns. One for me, one for him.”

“What about a hunting knife? You said you would go hunting with him.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t see one in the box on the bookshelf.”

“We’re gonna need something,” she muttered as she rounded Armin, walked past Eren and Mikasa, past the staircase, and into the blackness that made Grisha Jaeger’s office.

“There’s nothing there, Annie,” Eren called out. “I’ve checked.”

Her eyes dragged up the wooden bookcase and found a long, skinny box sitting on the top shelf. She of course couldn’t reach it—the joys of being five foot one—but she had to. She had a serial killer and a lapdog to distract.

She grabbed the edge of the bookcase and shook it until the box fell onto the floor, but not before a bunch of thick, heavy books fell first. The clatter was loud and the room became a mess in mere seconds. She peeked in the box and found nothing but little specks of dirt and dust. It might’ve been the first truth Eren had told that night.

“Shit, Annie! What happened to being the quietest person on earth?” Eren came into the room and stumbled over a couple of books. He caught himself before he fell and shot an irritated glare her way.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he spat out in a whisper.

“I told you—I’m looking for a weapon.”

“No, you’re just being a pain in the ass.”

As Eren shakingly lowered to the ground, grimacing at the pain shooting up his thigh, he started to pick up his dead father’s books. Mikasa soon emerged by the doorway. She looked at the floor and frowned. She stepped over Eren and began collecting more of the books and sticking them back into the shelves. Annie picked up two and shuffled back to the doorway. She watched Eren and Mikasa’s backs as they cleaned up the mess she made.

Eren muttered some more bullshit under his breath while Mikasa remained silent as she worked.

“I thought there would be at least something,” Annie said as she lightly tapped her two books together, sending more noise into the room.

As soon as Eren replied, “And I told you I checked it already,” she felt a presence zoom behind her and heard light footfalls running up the stairs.

She didn’t look behind her. She didn’t need to see the last image of the love of her life. Not a strand of blond hair, not his long eyelashes, not his bitten-down fingernails, not his perky nose, not his skinny collarbone. She was going to see him again in the morning next to her at home.

She blinked away the fear burning at the back of her eyes. She just had to.


	12. The Call to Arms (Levi POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **written by: blueTshirts**

12:28 AM 

“I’m just saying. Isn’t it weird that women tend to be intrigued with murder more than men, and yet men are more likely to kill rather than women?” Hanji asks like an idiot. 

Erwin who’s sitting across from her raises his eyebrow and tilts his empty wine glass to the side. “You’re a homicide detective Hanji.”

“Exactly!” she says. “Why are women so entranced by the dangers that are likely to happen to them? It’s like chickens working at a McDonalds.”

“Have you ever seen a chicken working at McDonalds?” Erwin asks as he raises his wine glass to his lips to sip at nothing. 

“No, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one out there.” 

I groan to myself. Petra pats my knee and gives me a smirk. Erwin and Petra have no idea how long I’ve fucking listened to Hanji rant about stupid shit. And yet they continue to insist on doing a wine night once a month together. They don’t have to work with Hanji everyday. I do.

The shriek of my phone is the first thing this evening to make Hanji quit rambling for a single fucking moment. 

I don’t dare to spare a moment considering taking the call or not. I’m already standing without having looked at the caller and ready to exit the group in their one sided conversation. 

Petra looks up at me as I stand. The slight squint in her eyes tells me that she’s jealous of my luck. I raise an eyebrow at her. 

“Just a moment,” I lie, already having decided that I’ll hang up the call quickly and smoke for another twenty minutes on the front porch. 

I step away from the creaky patio chair of Erwin’s backyard and glance at my phone. I pause. 

Hm. 

“Who is it?” Petra asks, noticing my slight hesitation. 

I stare at the phone. It’s past midnight on a Friday night. Why would he be calling me this late? 

“Eren Jaeger,” I state without looking up at my wife. 

“Eren-?” Petra starts but is cut off by Four Eyes. 

“Eren Jaeger? At 12:30 in the morning?” Hanji asks as her attention is immediately diverted to our “favorite” little project. 

I look up at Hanji with a flat expression. She obviously cares more than I do considering the worried look on her face. Erwin watches me with a careful stare. Eren Jaeger’s psychiatrist doesn’t have as much freedom with conversations about his patient, usually Hanji and I try to avoid the topic of the Jaeger’s around Erwin just because we know it’s not fair to him. 

I sigh and answer the call. 

“Detective Ackerman-”

“Levi?” A worried voice hushed with hurried breathing asks through my phone. 

My eyebrows narrow. I look at Hanji knowing she’s listening. “Where’s Eren?” I ask the unknown voice. 

“Levi, it’s Armin. Armin Arlert? Eren’s friend.”

Fuck.

“I know who you are Armin, why are you using Eren’s phone?” 

A shaky sigh whispers through staticy reception. “We need help. I don’t have a lot of time but we’re in danger. Please, send the authorities to the Jaeger Estate immediately.” Armin Arlert’s voice is chopped with jagged cuts in sound and coated with anxiety. 

Hanji’s face twists as I look at her while listening to Arlert’s frantic voice. “What happened, Armin?” I ask in a low voice. 

“One of our friends is dead.” A hiccup catches in Armin’s voice. “Possibly more.”

I lower the phone and speak to Hanji who is looking at me expectantly. “Call 911. Send them to the Jaeger Estate for a 187.” 

Hanji buffers. Her eyes twitch for a brief moment at what I just told her. Another second passes and she pushes herself from the circular metal table and yanks her phone out her jeans.

I lift the phone back to my ear thankful for the heavy breathing on the other end. 

“What’s a 187?” Petra asks standing with a concerned glance at Hanji over her shoulder. Hanji has already busted her way back into the house to gather her coat and her keys with the phone propped against her ear with her shoulder. I can hear my partner telling the dispatchers how to do their job in a manic tone, 

I amuse myself with the look on Petra’s face for a moment. She’s concerned. She’s always concerned but never worried. Petra knows what’s about to happen. She doesn’t know cop lingo or the complete horrific history of the Jaeger family, but she’s smart enough to put two and two together to know that I’m going to be busy tonight. Petra’s been on this ride with me far too long to expect an explanation for everything I do. 

“Levi?” A voice whispers over the phone. 

“I have to go, meet you at the house,” I tell my wife with a soft grasp at her hand as I start walking out of the backyard and around the house to the driveway. 

“Levi, should I come?” Erwin calls as Hanji passes the giant man with the phone still in her ear. 

I spare a moment to squint at Erwin. I hope not. “Not yet,” I tell him. I then turn to start jogging to the car behind Hanji. 

“We’re sending emergency responders now, Armin. Are you in a secured area?” I ask the kid as I duck into Hanji’s silver sedan. I start calculating the distance to the Jaeger estate. It could take us up to an hour to get there. An hour is too long. 

“Um, not really, I’m going to have to hang up before it gets suspicious,” Armin says. 

A bolt of anger fueled by adrenaline tenses my muscles. I maintain a level tone with the kid to not scare him. “Find somewhere safe to stay until the authorities get there, understood?” 

“Yeah, I got it, just make sure to tell them that most of my friends are in the woods,” Armin says, his voice getting quieter and quieter as the phone call carries on. Ideally, I’d keep him on the phone until help arrived, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. 

“Don’t do anything stupid, kid, just wait it out,” I say hoping he understands. I’m sure he will. I’ve known the Jaeger family for a year now, Armin Arlert is practically one of them at this point. This kid is brilliant. I just hope that genius in him is smart enough to maintain composure. 

“I, okay, I’m-shit, sorry.” 

The line goes dead. 

The anger pulsing through me wants to tell Hanji to speed the fuck up, but I don’t think we can go any faster than we already are. With Hanji’s emergency lights on, we speed through empty streets in the dark hours of the night on our way to the infamous Jaeger estate. 

I hold my hands in curled fists and imagine all the possibilities of the reason for that phone call. 

“What happened? Who’s that? Armin? The little blonde brainiac kid?” Hanji asks as her knuckles are stained white with the force she’s holding the steering wheel at. 

“Yeah, it was him, he was using Eren’s phone,” I say containing every syllable of my words. 

“A 187, seriously?” Hanji asks. 

No, not seriously. I hope. But it’s close enough. Code 187 is for murder. The reason that a kid is dead at the Jaeger estate right now could be for a million reasons. All reasons that I’m hoping for. But we don’t work in an optimistic industry. To survive with our jobs you have to expect the worst, period. 

“Are you the first person he called? Why didn’t he call 911 first?” Hanji continues to ask.

A rock sits in my gut and forces a combination of guilt and dread through my blood. “He wanted to make sure I knew.”

“He wanted to make sure you knew what?” 

I pinch my fore finger and thumb over my eyes. A headache begins to build between my eyebrows. “He wants me to know that something’s up with Eren.”

“What’s up with Eren then?”

“I don’t know,” I mutter. I can feel Hanji’s glare bore holes into the sides of my head. “He didn’t say anything about Eren, but there would be no other reason why he called me rather than 911. He’s a smart kid, he knows what he’s doing.”

“Sure he does,” Hanji says to herself. “All the smart one’s end up being just fine, don’t they Levi?” 

Bile raises in the back of my throat and I try not to think about what we could be walking into. Or what could have already happened by the time Armin called. Or what’s happening right now after Armin hung up. 

I conjure up every possibility to Armin’s plea. Each one makes me feel sicker. But we have to be prepared. We need a plan for everything. We can’t let anymore kids die. 

I think back to the phone call I had with the same anxious little Arlert kid a week ago, and wonder if I could be the reason that this is all happening. 

-

“I’m worried about Eren,” Armin said like a mother. 

I blinked slowly. I leaned back in my office chair and stared at the wall of newspaper clippings and printed articles about Zeke Jaeger that I had pinned to the cork board. Jaeger had taken over my life, his little brother included now that I had to keep an eye on the kid as some kind of parole officer. 

“Alright, anything else?” I asked blandly. 

“Uh, Officer Acker-”

“Detective.” 

Armin cleared his throat. “Sir, I understand that you’re a very busy man but I just wanted to let you know that Eren has been displaying some concerning signs recently.” 

I worked my jaw and let my eyes fall to the drawer where my cigarettes are stashed. “Like what?” 

“Well, it’s a little complicated, but I’m worried that he might be a danger to himself, or someone else.” I could practically see the kid pacing as he talked to me. I had spoken to many parents of at risk children and I can say that Armin Arlert had put it on himself to take the responsibility of Grisha and Carla Jaeger. It annoyed me. 

“Did something happen?” I asked glancing at the time. Two more minutes and I’ll hang up. 

“I think Eren has been keeping secrets, I think he may know something about Zeke,” Armin said. 

“You mean the Zeke we have in custody that has confessed to everything?” 

A pause drowned over the phone. 

“Yes?” 

I sighed leaning forward and hunching over my desk. I scratched at my jaw as the need for a cigarette grew. I really didn’t have time for this shit. 

“Look, kid, I get that you’re concerned for your friend and I appreciate you reaching out to me, but if nothing has happened then don’t fucking call me-”

“But Detective-”

“Don’t interrupt me. Only call me when something needs to be done, otherwise I’m not Eren’s babysitter or parent.” Armin stayed silent for the moment. That was another thing that came to annoy me about the kid. He tended to talk, a lot. And I already got a lot of that from my partner. “Eren has a good psychiatrist that he sees every week. If Dr. Smith thinks Eren needs a 72 hour watch then he’ll determine that. Leave this to the professionals, kid.” 

The conversation ended quickly after that. Armin gave up and I hung up. Easy as that. I knew Armin was hiding something, but I didn’t think it was that important if he didn’t want to tell me the truth.

Regardless if what Armin was saying had any validity or not, it’s better to be safe than sorry. I called Erwin later that day to tell him about Armin’s concerns. Erwin said he’d handle it and that was the end of it. This wasn’t our first rodeo, and this definity wasn’t something new regarding Eren Jaeger’s case. 

It’s no shock that the kid might be carrying around some fucked up shit. The kid’s got problems, but that’s perfectly normal in his case. Not like we’d let it get to a dangerous point, but it’s enough for us to continue to keep and eye on him. Over the past year I’ve witnessed Eren blow up at burning chicken nuggets, drive three states over because his sister was hanging out with their blonde friend instead of him, and throw pens at Erwin when asked if he thinks violence is an appropriate reaction to conflict. 

I knew that Eren was hiding shit, but everything will be exposed in due time. I’st just a matter of what he’s hiding is the issue. Now that Armin had expressed new concerns, I wanted to make sure Eren didn’t start some emotional break again. And so when he called me later that week to tell me that he was planning on having a get together with his friends at his family’s cabin, I got as many details out of the kid as I could. But it’s not like I could force him to not go or be a fucking chaperone. I just hoped Eren was doing this for some kind of interpersonal bonding. 

Now sweat mattes the palms of my hands. What if I was wrong? What if Erwin didn’t catch on to something Eren said? What if we’ve let ten other kids into a trap because I didn’t listen to a little shit a week ago? 

I grind my teeth together and watch the streetlamps whizz by as Hanji pushes 100 miles per hour on the highway. 

Whatever happens I just hope that it’s not too late. Whatever happens I just hope Eren isn’t the cause of something terrible.


	13. Running in Circles (Connie POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **written by: thesketchytepe**

12:52 AM 

He could only think about her. Despite Historia and Ymir’s murders, despite Marco falling into an open grave and almost getting buried alive, despite the horrible thoughts of Eren being the mastermind behind it all, he could only think about Sasha.

Every time an image of her big brown eyes or long maroon hair or her crooked teeth flashed behind his eyes, it felt like getting stabbed in the chest. Knowing she would never wake up again made his vision burn and his knees shake. How was he doing this right now? His other half just died—a very brutal death with no answer to its cause—and he was running up this impossible hill with two dickheads who’ve seemingly forgotten what just happened. He wanted to go back to that barn and lie down beside her like he’s done so many times before. He didn’t care about the dark or, frankly, about the dangerously ambiguous situation they were all stuck in. He just wanted Sasha back.

“Fuck this shit,” he spat under his breath, tears forming in his eyes again. “Fuck it all, fuck it.”

But here he was, still running for a life he didn’t have.

His lungs ached and his legs were on fire. Pulses of pain coursed through his body with each step he took. It was nothing compared to the damage done to his heart and soul, but holy shit, how much longer would it take to get to the highway?

A heavy thud and a low “oomph!” came from somewhere above him. Connie peeked up and found Berthold’s long, narrow body laying on the ground. He scrambled to get up but ended up tripping again.

Reiner went to help him up, making sure to slow his pace as he turned to go down the hill a little. He reached out to grab Berthold’s bicep with his right hand, the shotgun in his left. Berthold struggled to his feet and squeezed Reiner’s shoulder in thanks. His dark sweater was probably covered in mud and leaves, but the pitch black night prevented Connie from seeing him.

“Fucking idiots,” he muttered as he jogged pass them. “Don’t fucking fall. Don’t you guys watch horror movies?”

“This isn’t a fucking movie, Connie,” Reiner snapped back in a whisper. “Our friends are dead right now.”

“You don’t think I fucking know that!” He stopped to slam a fist into the blond mountain’s shoulder. “You don’t think I know that Sasha’s fucking dead! What the fuck does that mean, you worthless piece of shit!”

“Hey, hey!” Berthold swiveled around Reiner and grabbed Connie’s flying arms. “Connie, come on. Now’s not the time.”

“Then when? Someone’s gotta pay for what’s been done! And you guys don’t seem very considerate of Sasha’s life! Or Historia and Ymir for that matter.”

“You don’t think we’re freaked out right now?” Reiner challenged, leaning over Berthold’s shoulder and down at Connie. “I can’t stop thinking about them. But we can’t pause to let it all sink in now; we have to get help.”

“Fuck you!” Connie’s voice rose to a shout and Berthold quickly slapped a hand across his mouth.

“Connie, please!”

His oval eyes widened some more. With the hand he had around Connie’s wrist, he lifted a pointer finger into the air.

“We have to get moving and we have to be quiet. Remember what Marco said? Eren could be watching us right now.”

Connie peered at him. His vision was getting blurry and his head felt light. “You really think he did this? But-But why?”

“Yeah, Bert.” Reiner’s tone was flat, maybe a little betrayed. “You think he did this?”

Berthold whipped his head in his direction. “It’s like you said: we can’t stop to let it all sink in. Let’s get going; watch your step.” He shot another worried look at Connie. “And please stay quiet.”

He started running again, his long spider legs disappearing into the dark. Reiner sniffed and ran after him. Connie rubbed at his eyes and looked around them. Everything was black and dead. The night seemed to get darker as time dragged on and the pine trees waltzed with the autumn air. The path they were running up to looked exactly the same as the path behind them. Where was the light in all this darkness, the one thing they were searching so hard for?

He gripped at his stomach, feeling sick of it all, and started running again.

He wasn’t sure how long they’d been running, but it felt like hours. His entire body burned and he was so fucking tired of not being able to see anything. He panted like a wild dog, his legs felt like jello, his throat ached. He suddenly felt dizzy and slowed to a stop, falling to his knees. Pine needles stuck to his sweaty palms as he tried to catch his breath.

“Hey, what happened to ‘don’t fucking fall?’” Reiner’s voice drilled into his head like a jackhammer.

“I…didn’t fucking…fall,” he wheezed out, glaring up at the giant of a man.

He didn’t move toward Connie, but simply stood and waited for him, the shotgun gripped firmly in both hands. Berthold had also slowed to a halt further ahead.

“Do we even know if we’re heading in the right direction?” Connie huffed. His arms trembled as he slowly straightened back up.

Berthold whipped out his phone. He had the brightness on to a low, apparently still afraid of the possibility that Eren was watching in on them. His worried face stared at it as he held it in the air like some sacrificial offering.

“Still no signal,” he whimpered.

“But are we heading in the right direction, Berthold?”

“Y-Yes. We came down the hill in order to get to the cabin, remember? The highway shouldn’t be too far off.”

Connie caught the hesitation in his voice. Berthold was always hesitant in his responses, however, yet this time it mattered more.

“You…you have no…” The energy drained from him; he could feel it leaving his body. He took two steps forward and, when his limbs suddenly became a liquid, he lost his footing and gravity pushed him backward, sending him flying down the hill.

“Connie!”

He tumbled down several yards, hitting his head against the cold, hard ground a couple times. More pine needles plastered onto his clammy skin and something sharp tore at his clothes. He, of course, had no idea where he was going. He tried reaching out for anything that would catch his fall and he eventually did. Shooting pain burst in his stomach like a firecracker when he rammed into the trunk of a tree.

Something wet dribbled from his mouth and it reeked of rotten food and metal. He groaned and slowly curled around the tree as if it were a part of him. Drowsiness flittered over his eyes. His arms couldn’t stop shaking. It felt like a rock was stuck in his stomach, weighing him down. And yet he felt so light.

“Connie! Connie, you alright?”

It sounded like Reiner’s voice because the footfalls that came toward him were heavy, determined. But he sounded so far away, somewhere in a cave or at the bottom of the ocean.

Something bubbled up his throat and he didn’t bother to hold it down. He let the warmth slip through his teeth in a hoarse coughing fit. The dampness on his cracked lips grew and the smell got stronger. God, he smelled so bad.

He then sensed Reiner’s hand on his spine, pulling him back. He was slow, way too slow. Were they both trapped somewhere underwater?

Reiner’s sculpted face came into his view. It was tight and concentrated, but as his small eyes scanned his condition, they grew to the size of dinner plates. Horror settled on his features and the look scared Connie as well.

“What? Is it bad?” he slurred through his slick lips.

“Is everything alright?” Berthold came up behind Reiner, his phone aimed at Connie. It was much brighter this time and he had to squint at the sudden burst of light.

Reiner didn’t say anything. He merely glanced at Berthold over his shoulder and waited for his reaction.

Berthold peered at Connie and soon his expression fell like ash from the sky.

“Was that from the tree or…?” he whispered through the fear.

Reiner shook his head slowly and looked back down at Connie. “I heard him cough it up.”

“What?” Connie pried. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Am I—?”

The dark streak of red smeared over his knuckles stole his words and left him hanging. Something tiny and solid sat on his hand. It looked like a popcorn kernel.

Terror struck his heart like lightning and tears immediately began welling up in his bloodshot eyes. “What? No. What the fuck? What is that? Is that a fucking--”

“You just puked up blood,” Reiner mumbled. Connie barely heard him; the shock clogged his throat. “And your arms keep twitching.”

Reiner hesitated before breathing out, “Just like Sasha.”

The tears rain down his face but he made no sound. Connie could only stare at his shaking hand, at the blood stain, at the popcorn kernel. The darkness surrounding them had finally made its way into him, but, strangely, he didn’t feel as scared as he thought he would. Naturally, his heart pumped wildly in his chest and his breath was heavy, but that could’ve been from running. Fear hadn’t really registered in his brain. All he thought about was Sasha’s symptoms before her death and the food that was stuck to her lips as she screamed through the pain, “He’s trying to kill me! He’s inside of me!”

It was smashed pieces of popcorn. Eren made that whole bowl of popcorn for her and Connie had eaten some of it. It was Eren—Eren was the killer in the woods.

“I’m going to die,” he hiccupped through his tears. “Eren is going to kill me, just like he killed Sasha.”

“No, no, you’re not,” Reiner said slowly as if he were in a trance. “Eren…didn’t kill anyone. He’s still in the basement at the cabin.”

“You fucking idiot, don’t you see?” Connie snapped at him despite the twisting pain in his stomach. His leg shifted against the tree and his hand—the one with his blood on it—batted at the air. Twitching, puking blood, next would be a full-out seizure.

“It’s like Jean said,” Connie bit back, “Eren is behind it all. He made that popcorn for Sasha and she started puking it up not even an hour ago and now I’m gonna die just like she did. He put something in it; he probably went out and killed Historia and Ymir while the lights were out at the cabin. Marco fell in an open grave and almost died. Fuck, Armin, Mikasa, and Annie are probably dead already. He’s going to kill you all.”

The more he talked, the deeper underwater he went. Everything wavered and darkened and moved slowly. His heartbeat thumped against his eardrums and he felt so hot and sticky that he wanted to rip off his own flesh if that would make him any cooler.

“Hey, Connie, don’t do that.” Reiner lightly slapped his cheeks. The world cleared for a moment, but the dark was quick to intervene. “Connie, stay with me. You’re gonna be fine.”

He snorted as his head rolled to the side like a bowling ball. “Well, you’re on a time limit, buddy. What'cha gonna do?”

He felt his elbow twitch and his legs kick at the pine needles. Pain stabbed at his stomach again and he gripped it, moaning.

Reiner’s hands gripped at his arms tightly; it was starting to hurt him but he didn’t mention anything. “We have to go back to the cabin,” he heard him say to Berthold.

“What? We can’t. We’re so close to the highway.”

“How is the highway gonna help us now?” Reiner practically screamed at his boyfriend. “What are we gonna do, call an ambulance?”

“Yes!” Berthold shouted back. “That’s the whole point! We’re going to get help and send it back here. Maybe someone will drive by and we can wave them down and tell them to take us to the hospital.”

“If there’s anyone out there. We don’t have time to gamble for anything. You aren’t even sure if we’re heading in the right direction. No one else can die tonight, I won’t allow it.”

“That’s exactly what’s going to happen if we go back down there. Eren’s still here and—”

“Why do you keep accusing—”

“Why don’t you ever listen to me?” Berthold shrieked at the top of his lungs, his voice thick with tears. “It’s abundantly clear that Eren is at least involved in all of this and we’ll be walking right into his trap if we go back down there. What do you plan to do there anyway? How is that going to save Connie?”

Reiner stammered before blurting out, “Then why don’t you take Connie and I’ll go back? Annie is still there, or have you forgotten about her?”

Berthold sighed and Connie thought he heard him laugh a little. Maybe it was the overwhelming nervousness that made him snicker in hopelessness or maybe it was the blood in his ears that was playing tricks on him.

“Annie will be fine,” he sobbed. “She’s smart and strong enough to get herself out of any situation. Jean and Marco are heading her way anyhow. Please, let’s just go to the highway, Reiner.”

Through the murkiness, Connie saw Berthold grip Reiner’s jacket and tug on it desperately. He was taller than him, but he still looked like a weepy little child compared to Reiner.

“I’m trying to save you, why can’t you see that?” he cried hysterically. “Stop looking for a reason to get yourself killed. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you. Please, Reiner, please let’s go to the highway. Connie doesn’t have much longer, but he’ll have a chance if we get there in time.”

As they argued, Connie looked at the midnight sky. The pine trees towered over him and blocked most of his view, but he was lucky enough to see little dots of white twinkle high above. It was easy to ignore the random twitching of his limbs and the aching in his stomach because Sasha filled up his mind, as she did majority of the time. He remembered one particular night spent with her, way before they bought an apartment together. It was 2 AM and they talked about things they hadn’t spoken about with others.

“Isn’t it weird that literally every decision we make determines our future?” she wondered.

“You mean the butterfly effect?” He smirked. “Like if I decide to take a shit in the morning versus at night? That’s gonna help me somehow get into college?”

“Everyone knows you shit in the morning. But no, I’m serious. Like you know you can die just driving down the street going to get fast food. Or pairing up with someone in class could lead to you two marrying. Or even just smiling at someone could just, like, save their life. It’s so strange.”

He paused before asking, “Are you satisfied with the choices you’ve made?”

She had looked at him and smiled. “Yup, couldn’t be better.”

He now wondered if she regretted going out to protect their “friends”, if she regretted eating that popcorn, if she regretted coming to the cabin at all. Was there a decision he could’ve made that would change this whole outcome? Was there a way they both could’ve survived this? Or had they been running in circles this entire time? Were they doomed to die this hard death? He wished that butterfly would come back for a moment, but he knew that if it did, it would emerge as a moth with a skull on its wings.

They had chosen the wrong deck of cards, and now it was Connie’s turn to pay the price. His only regret was that Sasha couldn’t see this beautiful night sky before she closed her eyes.

Reiner’s grip tightened and Connie weakly pushed against his bulging forearms. Just put me down, he wanted to say. Let me go and go do whatever the hell you want and hope for the best. But he had no more strength left, physically or emotionally. He was just a rag doll at this point.

He heard the shotgun click in Reiner’s other hand.

“I have to save someone, anyone,” he muttered under his breath. He pressed Connie’s body against his chest, raised the shotgun over his head, and then descended the hill, faster than Connie had tumbled down it.

Berthold hollered out Reiner’s name but his pathetic cry was soon drowned out by the ruffling of leaves and Reiner’s heavy breathing. He sprinted through the trees and, when the hill was particularly steep, he dropped and slid down. Connie didn’t try to hold onto him like how Sasha did—if he flew out of his grasp, then so be it. There were no choices he could make at this point that would change the course of the future. He was already dead; he was just waiting for his soul to be reaped.

As he plummeted deeper into the gloomy shadows of his mind, he could vaguely hear Reiner pant something like, “Don’t worry, we’ll get you help” or “Stay with me, Con-man. You’re gonna be fine.”

He choked out a laugh and, along with it, some spittle of blood. “Fucking idiot. You should be worried about saving yourselves at this point.”

“Don’t say that. You still have a chance. After all, you said you’d see Jean tomorrow.”

Horseface will be just fine without me. He’ll get it, he’ll understand.

Connie closed his eyes, impatient. His body felt like shit: the dull ache in his stomach never ceased, his limbs were knocking into everything without his say so, sweat melted off of him in fat drops, the smell of blood never left his nostrils. God, can’t he just get this over with so he wouldn’t have to feel so gross anymore? The thought of asking Reiner to take him back to the barn so he could lay beside Sasha flittered across his mind and his chest rose in aspiration, but it quickly deflated.

No, he did have a choice in death that would change his future—he could either die by the girl who’d been with him through thick and thin or die in the cabin, next to Eren. He’d be wasting precious time for Reiner and Berthold and everyone else, however. If he died on the way to the cabin, then Reiner and Bert would have a chance at saving Annie and Mikasa and Armin. Jean and Marco wouldn’t be alone in the fight. Connie could still save someone’s life, even if it wasn’t his.

So, he said nothing and let Reiner think he was doing something good.

His awareness of what happened next was hazy—everything was now black and he didn’t try searching for that light anymore. Reiner eventually stopped running and his grip on him was tighter than ever. He could feel himself slipping from his arms, but Reiner tried everything in his physical strength to keep him from falling. He thought he heard Berthold stumble in behind them, either that or a tree fell somewhere in the distance. He was sure he heard a scream, though, and it didn’t come from Reiner or Bert. It was sudden yet wasn’t long or filled with suffering. It was feminine and muffled.

Great, here it was. Reiner’s chance at saving someone’s ass. The darkness was suffocating them and would soon be making its way to another poor soul who also let that butterfly slip through their fingers.

Soon enough, his senses slipped from his control and his body now belonged to the worms.


	14. Make It Real (Armin POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **written by: thesketchytepe**

12:40 AM 

Levi’s tone was calm and focused when he said, “Don’t do anything stupid, kid, just wait it out.” He tried to imitate him by taking deep, steady breaths, but the loud slamming of a body against the back door cut that short.

His eyes flew to the glass door and he had to swallow a scream. He couldn’t see who it was at first; all he saw was the outline of an arm and shoulder but eventually they pressed their face against the glass. They rattled the handle and the rapid clicking sound it made reminded him of the ticking of a bomb. For a stupid moment, he thought Levi had whipped out some magic wand and help had already arrived, but once logic settled back in, he realized it’d be more appropriate to believe that somebody else was murdered. 

Armin’s heart dropped to the ground when he noticed Marco’s freckled face, smeared with blood and panic.

“I, okay, I’m—shit, sorry,” he stuttered into Eren’s phone before ending the call and stuffing it in his pocket.

He ran to the door and threw it open. Marco stumbled in, gasping as if he’d been holding his breath the entire time he was gone, and Jean fell in behind him, quite literally. He collapsed onto his knees, panting like a dehydrated dog. He didn’t stay like that for long, however—his raggedy head whipped up and his eyes scanned the dark kitchen they were in.

Armin shut the door and went to help Jean up. “Oh my God, are you guys—”

“Is Eren up here?” Jean interrupted in a sharp whisper.

He blinked. Jean got back up on his feet and peered into the living room around the corner. He was alert, wary, scared shitless. He knew; he knew about Eren.

“No. He’s still in the basement with Mikasa and Annie.”

Jean looked at him, his dark eyes scrutinizing him from head to foot. “Then, what are you doing here?”

“Eren’s phone is working.” He pulled it out from his back pocket to show them. “Annie caught him messing with it. She’s distracting him now, so I could make a phone call. Levi is on his way with reinforcements.”

He nodded his head slowly and then, as if in realization, narrowed his eyes at him. “Did you know Eren was going to do this?”

He was pissed (rightfully so) and he was about to throw fists at anyone who could be associated with Eren and his evil little games. And, in a way, Armin did know. Armin wouldn’t stop Jean from punching him in the face or throwing him to the ground because he did deserve it. Armin knew Eren would do something and he didn’t do anything to put an end to it.

His eyes avoided Jean’s and landed on Marco. He was leaning against the counter, opened beer bottles and red solo cups littered behind him. His chest rose and fell with each panted breath and his own panicked eyes were glued to Eren’s phone in Armin’s hand. Sprinkles of dirt clung to his shirt and a few pine needles were stuck in his hair and his eyes were red and puffy, but it was the dried blood clotting his nose that captured his attention.

“What happened out there?” he asked Marco specifically. “Where are the others?”

Dread filled his lungs like smoke as soon as he asked the question; he had a terrible feeling that he already knew that too.

Marco glanced up at him and then aimed his stare back to the ground. He thought he saw tears welling in the corners of his dark eyes. He pursed his lips and cracked them open. “We—”

“Ymir and Sasha are dead,” Jean interrupted again.

Something in Armin dropped like an atom bomb. It chilled his spine yet his face burned. His vision blurred and his body trembled. Her name bounced around in his mind; he felt like he was going to pass out. He already assumed Ymir was dead when Eren brought in Historia’s body and he supposed he mourned for them both in the basement, but…Sasha?

His eyes widened at Jean, trying to see his face through his fuzzy gaze. “What?” His throat was dry as if it were stuffed with a dozen cotton balls. “Sash—”

“Eren killed them both,” he clarified. His jaw was locked and he spat through his teeth. “We found Ymir’s body in the barn. A fucking shithole shack, not some sexed-up Love Barn like Eren said. Marco thinks she was electrocuted with some kind of a rigged lightswitch. And Sasha…” He sucked in a breath, his eyes glistening in the dark. “She was poisoned or something. She was puking blood and shaking like crazy. She was burning up and she…she…”

Tears slid down his cheeks, yet his furious expression never broke. “Armin, she was fucking terrified. She died screaming and crying.”

Armin’s shaking hands hovered over his mouth. Sasha’s dead. It echoed in his brain like a rain of bullets, each one piercing through his heart until it was shredded to pieces. He thought it would be safer out in the woods than it would be here in the cabin. But three of his friends had died out there. Because he didn’t know what to do. He killed them. He killed Ymir, Historia, and dear, sweet Sasha.

The word “poisoned” leapt into his mind amongst the firing self-deprecating insults and unbearable guilt. Murderer, coward, pathetic weakling. The words floated to his mind like bloated corpses of Zeke’s victims disposed into the Jaeger’s lake. Sasha was poisoned, but how? When? He suddenly remembered when he and Annie first arrived at the Jaeger cabin and she told him to not eat anything that wasn’t sealed. The image of Sasha devouring that giant bowl of popcorn Eren made twisted Armin’s gut around, making him want to puke all over again.

Eren poisoned the popcorn. He really was trying to kill them all.

Another picture of Eren offering the popcorn to Annie first sent a whole new level of betrayal into his veins—it stole the breath from his lungs and took the strength from his legs, dropping him to the kitchen floor. He grabbed at his hair and stared at the mud coating Jean’s Docs which he could barely see through the tears clouding his eyes and jamming his throat.

“Oh, my God,” he managed to wheeze out in quiet yet broken sobs.

Eren literally tried to kill Annie as soon as she walked through the front door, right in front of him. He took a completely innocent memory of her and tried morphing it into a pile of tears and blood and pain, what Sasha drowned in. Sasha unknowingly suffered for what was meant for Annie. Dammit, he came here to protect his friends, not sacrifice them. But why didn’t he offer it to Armin if he wanted everyone dead? Was he saving something “special” for him like the barn for Ymir and Historia? He didn’t know and hated himself for it. Why couldn’t he figure this out? He’s done nothing but send others to their deaths, ignorant crusaders falling in the place they truly believed they were safe in.

As he moaned into the floor, his heart slowly being torn into millions of pieces, Marco crouched down and took hold of Armin’s wrists. He pried them away from his head and mumbled to him, “Armin, stop. You’re pulling out your hair.”

He looked up at him, at the worried but exhausted look in his dark brown eyes. He peered at his hands. Tuffs of blond hair were tangled in his fingers; he wasn’t even aware that he was doing it. Besides, who cared? They had more important matters than his stupid head of hair.

“It’s really Eren, isn’t it?” Marco breathed. “He’s the one doing all of this.”

Armin looked back up at him. He heard Annie in the back of his mind: Make it real. He was a fucking idiot—he should’ve done that in the first place. It would’ve saved them all from a world of hurt. All of this would’ve been a bad dream if he just told Levi what he was afraid to admit. With a heavy heart, he confessed to Marco what he should’ve told Levi a week ago, a few minutes ago: “Yes. Eren helped Zeke kill those people at the hospital and now he’s trying to kill us.”

Marco blinked and Jean took a step back.

“Wait, what?” Jean whispered. “Eren did what?”

Armin slipped his hands out of Marco’s limp clutch and peeked at Jean’s shocked and furious face. “I found a box full of things that belonged to the victims at his house a week ago. Their names were on them; he definitely played a role in their murders. He planned, thought thoroughly about their deaths and he’s doing the same thing with us.”

He wanted to add “his friends” at the end of that sentence but knew that wasn’t true anymore.

Marco slowly nodded as if it actually made sense. “I fell,” he mumbled, making a glance at Jean. “There was a trap, I think, it was like an open grave and when I tried to climb out, it broke something that filled the grave up. I lost the rifle, but at least I’m alive, thanks to Jean.” He looked at his hands. “Someone’s got to build such a trap like that.”’

He continued ranting: “We also found a bear trap out there. Just in the middle of nowhere, a perfect spot for anyone to stumble into. Historia might’ve been caught in that, based on those wounds I saw on her calf and forearm. We met Reiner, Berthold, Connie, and…” He swallowed and exhaled. “And Sasha. We met them at the barn and they said the killer slashed the cars’ tires, so they set the car alarm off to cause that distraction they needed. You probably heard it in the basement. Reiner, Connie, and Berthold are now heading to the highway to call someone, maybe catch a car passing by.”

His gaze traveled back up to Armin. He looked so tired. Of course, he was terrified, but he looked heavy like it was a struggle just to lift his head. Did he even care that Eren was the cause of all this or did he just wanted this night to be over with already?

“If Eren planned this far ahead, then it makes sense that he would have the capability to do the same with those doctors,” he agreed.

Jean shook his head. “This is fucking insane. Eren’s fucking insane. He’s a heartless son of a bitch who likes to see people in pain, the fucker.”

“We don’t have time to call him names.” Armin wiped his hands on his jeans and sighed, but it came out in a shaky wave and didn’t really calm his hammering heart at all. He slowly got back on his feet and swiped at his face for the hundredth time that night.

“You guys have to hide,” he said. “Eren can’t know you’re here.” He paused and then added, “In fact, he probably already knows.”

Marco straightened up and went to lean on his boyfriend’s shoulder. Jean wrapped his arms around his waist and held him tightly. Armin glanced at the phone that fell to the ground with him. He picked it up and wondered if he could access all those cameras.

“Go upstairs to Eren’s room,” he told them. “It’s the last door to the right. Maybe you guys can find something there while staying away from him.”

“Like what?” Jean asked.

Armin held up the phone. “This is only a piece of the puzzle. In order to put together all of this, he would’ve needed better equipment and a lot of it. Maybe there’s something in his computer or whatever.” He paused. “Perhaps he has more belongings of his other victims.”

“What about you guys?” Marco offered. “Are Mikasa and Annie okay?”

He hadn’t even thought about Mikasa. He closed his eyes, sighed, and opened them again, shaking his head slightly. “Mikasa’s a part of this too.”

Marco’s dirtied face scrunched in confusion and Jean flinched back as if he were slapped across the face. “What? Mikasa’s working with Eren?”

“Yes, but I’m not certain how involved she is. She’s aware of his actions at least, but I don’t know if she’s physically helping him or not.”

“So, it’s just you and Annie down there…”

He glanced up at them through his tousled hair. Jean was visibly getting angrier by the second—his mouth was set in a tight scowl and his small eyes were as sharp as daggers. Marco just couldn’t believe it all; he looked so betrayed. The exhaustion weighed on his shoulders heavily and tears lined his eyes. Some of his friends were dead while others were trying to kill them. And then there was Armin, who was somewhere between sacrificing himself and his own companions.

They’ll never forgive me for knowing this, will they? Armin thought to himself.

“We’ll be fine,” he tried assuring them. “You guys go hide until Levi shows up.”

“But what about—”

“Please, just go. And be quick—I have to go back downstairs before Eren notices I’m gone.”

A tear slipped down Marco’s cheek as he pitched the space between his eyebrows. Jean hugged his waist tighter and reached out to squeeze Armin’s shoulder. Jean stared at him with a weirdly confident look—he was probably looking forward to busting Eren’s ass.

“Alright, but you be careful. And don’t fucking die.” Jean nodded his head. 

Armin nodded, but didn’t believe he needed the saving. He did kill Sasha after all; if things did come to that, he prayed that they would just take Annie out of there and leave him behind.

He watched Marco and Jean shuffle into the dark living room and climb the staircase. Even though he couldn’t see them that well, he could feel their eyes on him, a last look over the shoulder before being swallowed up in the darkness again.

Fear resettled in his bones as he looked around him, making sure all signs of Jean and Marco’s arrival were erased. He opened the back door again to rub away Marco’s fingerprints left behind on the glass, kicked some clumps of dirt back out, and straightened the small rug Jean tripped on. His eyes eventually fell back on Eren’s phone in his hands. The temptation to investigate was strong—suppose he could access the cameras set up in the cabin or out in the woods? Could he disable traps that were tied to his phone? He bit the inside of his cheek. No, he didn’t have enough time. He had to be getting back.

But here was an opportunity to take something back down with him, so Jean and Marco wouldn’t have to come flying down the stairs if worse came to worse. He eyed the knife block sitting by the stove. He couldn’t take the largest knife with him (that’d be too obvious, bulging in his hoodie pocket) but perhaps he could stuff a steak knife in there? Then he and Annie would both have weapons on them. He’d feel a little more at ease if that were the case.

Just as he turned to grab one, a voice behind him said, “Hey, man.”

He froze, his blood running cold, a shiver shredding through his spine. His stomach twisted and pulled itself together like taffy and he could feel two fat beads of sweat roll down his temple. He never felt so cold before—no blizzard or freezer or icy road or foot of snow could ever compare to the chill he felt coating his insides.

I took too long.

He slowly turned around to look at Eren standing by the threshold of the kitchen. He didn’t look angry like he expected him to be. Instead he stood there with his hands in his pockets, staring at him almost innocently as if he were a curious child peering at a rabbit hopping across a field.

“What are you doing?” he asked casually.

Armin’s eyes skimmed the living room behind him and found it to be vacant. His heart beat wildly, running at the same speed of that frightened rabbit. “Where is she?”

He tilted his head to the side. “Where’s who?”

“Annie. Where is she?”

“Downstairs. I noticed you weren’t down there, so I came up here looking for you.” He blinked, his glowing hazel eyes like a blue flame in a deep dark dungeon. “What are you doing, Armin?”

He suddenly didn’t know how to breathe. His cracked lips split open and his chest rose and fell with each strained breath he brought in. His hands started shaking again and he tightened them into fists. He held up the phone as if it were the knife he was reaching for. “Eren, stop this now.”

Eren blinked at the device. “Oh, you have my phone. I thought I had lost it for a second.” He took a few steps further into the kitchen and stretched out a hand to take it, but Armin quickly threw it against the wall nearest to him, smashing it into a thousand pieces. The sound was loud in the dark silence and made Armin jump.

Eren’s jaw dropped, his eyes scanning the shattered mess on the floor and counter. “What the hell, Armin? What was that for?”

“You need to stop, Eren. I know what you’ve done and what you plan on doing. I called Levi; he’s on his way now.”

Instead of doing what Armin wanted him to do—get angry or scream that he didn’t know what he was talking about—Eren looked at him, hesitated, and then slumped his shoulders.

“Fuck, Armin. You know how much I hate that guy. He stares at me like a fucking creep.”

The fear grew stronger in his chest like a tumor. He was treating this like it was a bother, a shame that Levi was coming. It was like he just narrowly missed the bus and had to wait another twenty minutes before moving again.

“Eren.”

His killer looked back up at him. He was annoyed, his hands on his hips, his bottom lip set in a pout. Every moment that passed offered more and more evidence that Eren’s hands were soaked with their friends’ blood.

Armin’s eyes burned like fire. “Eren, I know you killed Historia and your father and those people at the hospital. I-I found that box under your bed.”

He didn’t say or do anything. He just stared at him as if waiting for him to go on.

Armin swallowed and did: “You helped Zeke in killing those doctors and buried them here in the woods. Zeke injected the drugs into the doctors and you’re the one who smashed in your own father’s face. But you can’t do it alone. You need Zeke’s help to cover your tracks, to stash the bodies. That’s Mikasa’s job now. But killing ten people in one night? That’s way more than you two can handle. You’ve set traps throughout the cabin, throughout the whole estate maybe. But things will get bloody—they have already—and you can’t conceal what you’ve done with this amount of damage. You can’t keep track of everyone at once, no matter how hard you try. Soon enough, you’ll break this innocent façade of yours and start throwing fists. Maybe it’s more satisfying that way—you’ll get to experience seeing the life drain out of their eyes and then keep their skull as a reminder of the things you’ve accomplished.”

He exhaled. “I-I’m right, aren’t I?”

Eren merely stared, expressionless. His hands dropped from his hips and hung at his sides. He was still tainted with the blood of Historia—it was all over his white T-shirt and strong forearms and broad hands. A fleeting memory tugged in the back of Armin’s mind: he and Eren were playing out in the rain in his backyard (against Carla Jaeger’s wishes), kicking at the mud, hopping in deep puddles, catching as many raindrops as they could. Carla eventually swung open the back door and called them back in with Armin’s own mother standing beside her, there to take him back home. As he held onto his mother’s hand and let her guide them out the front door, he threw a glance over his shoulder at Eren. He stood motionless in the kitchen as Carla furiously swiped a towel at his face, wiping away the slimy mud and wet leaves that clung to his drenched self. Eren was aware that what he did was wrong, but he simply stood there, covered in his poor choices and, once again, letting his mother clean him back up.

Eren’s gaze ultimately shifted to the side, peering out the glass door. “Mikasa said you would figure it out.”

Just as the confession left his lips, the sound of faint but rapid footsteps echoed from the basement. The door flew open and the dark silhouette of Mikasa emerged. She jogged around the leather couches and stopped at the threshold of the kitchen, where Eren once stood. Her smooth, white face came into view—her dark eyes were wide with fright and her delicate lips were pulled in a concerned grip. Her hands were spread out in a steady surrender, showing Armin that she wasn’t there to hurt him but was prepared to assist Eren if need be.

“Eren, Armin,” she breathed, taking two careful steps forward. “What’s going on?”

Armin never thought he would think this, but he really had no care for whatever excuse Mikasa was about to make up for Eren’s sake. Instead his eyes moved past her and back into the living room. A giant weight lifted from his shoulders once he spotted Annie’s blond bun on the top of her head. She was stationed at the opposite side of the kitchen counter and was slowly making her way around it, silent like the dead. Her electric blue eyes flittered between the three of them, but not before making a quick check on Armin’s physical state.

She seemed in good shape, so he looked back at his childhood friends.

“Armin said we’re here to kill everyone,” Eren answered, not looking back at Mikasa. “Just like you said.”

“Mikasa, get away from him,” Armin warned at the same time Eren spoke.

Her head moved back and forth between them, the uneasiness rising in her eyes.

“Mikasa, come on,” Armin tried again. He was a little flabbergasted that she was actually torn between a second chance and the ruination of her life.

“There’s no use in hiding it from you anymore,” Eren shrugged. His translucent eyes were locked on Armin’s and he hardly budged. “I guess it was kinda dumb of me to think that I could keep you in the dark. You usually figure everything out.”

He then leaned forward a bit as if he were going to spill some huge secret. “But I get the joy of telling you that you were actually wrong about something. Guess that big brain of yours isn’t almighty and powerful.”

“Eren.” Mikasa’s voice trembled and her body shifted his way. Armin was losing her already and Eren hadn’t done anything to win her heart back.

“Mikasa,” Armin snapped. She looked at him momentarily, but her attention was drawn back to Eren once he opened his mouth again.

“I’m not going to kill you. Honest. Cross my heart and hope to die.” He drew an X over his chest.

He didn’t believe him. Why should he? Everything that came out of his mouth was a lie; he didn’t care about his friends anymore, so why would Armin be an exception?

“No, I’ll make sure you get out of this alive. But everyone else? Yeah, they’re fucked.”

Armin’s heart dropped to his feet and shattered all over again. The nonchalance of his tone, the terrible choice of words, the way he barely moved. Was he finally witnessing the monster that had hibernated beneath Eren’s skin for God’s knows how long?

“Why?” Armin whispered.

“Why what? Why am I keeping you alive or why is everyone else going to die?”

“Eren, please stop.” Mikasa reached out to touch his arm, but the sudden twist of his head made her stop in her tracks.

His eyes narrowed, a little irritated with her. “Mikasa, please stop trying to be my mother for one goddamn second, will you?”

She jolted at his harsh, mocking tone and her eyes watered. Armin took his chance and wrapped his fingers around her little wrist and tried pulling her towards him.

“Mikasa, come here,” he mumbled, but she only took one willing step back before planting herself between them again. Trying to drag her away from Eren was like trying to push a tree down with his bare hands.

Eren looked back at Armin. “Well, everyone has to die because of you, Armin. If you would’ve just kept your little mouth shut, then you’d be saving everyone from a whole world of hurt.”

He halted at tugging Mikasa but kept his grasp on her. A horribly tight knot formed in the pit of his stomach as the words sank in. “What does that mean?”

“What does that mean?” Eren repeated like he thought Armin was an idiot for asking. The small smirk on his face drops. “I know it was you, Armin. Yeah, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why my therapist asked me some incriminating questions two days after you ran out of my house like a bat out of hell. I know you found my shit. And I know you told Levi and I know Levi told Erwin. I’m not fucking retarded, alright?” 

Eren sighed like he was his cat that just threw up on the carpet. He tilted his head at him with his expression softening. “My first instinct was to kill you, I’ll admit it. I mean, you can’t blame me. I can’t have you running around, accusing me of being a cold-blooded bastard, right? That would ruin everything. I was doing the right thing, I was plucking out the bad seeds, but of course, you would never understand and would still have my ass thrown in prison. So you had to die.” 

Eren shook his head with a tender look on his face. It sent a chill down Armin’s spine. “It would’ve been so easy, Armin. Seriously, you may think you’ve got the world figured out, but you would’ve never seen me coming.” Eren paused and that affectionate expression of his twists into annoyance.   
“But then,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, “Mikasa wasn’t all too fond of what I had in mind. She practically begged me not to kill you. It was pathetic.” 

A red, hot fury boiled in Armin’s blood at the way he completely dismissed Mikasa as a human being with feelings. He found Mikasa place a trembling hand over her mouth as tears curved around her porcelain features.

“Eren, that’s enough,” he spat at him.

He shrugged off the tone and went on: “But she got me thinking. I figured death would be too easy for you—you’d be escaping from what you did. So, as an alternative, I decided to kill off everyone else to make your pathetic little life miserable.”

He turned and jerked his chin behind him. “It was a long shot, but I tried getting rid of Annie first with some homemade popcorn sprinkled with arsenic.”

Annie froze in her spot on the threshold, eyes wide, lips tight. She apparently wasn’t even aware that he knew she was there. The fire in Armin’s chest rose and fell, terrified for Annie’s life and discovering the true cause of Sasha’s death yet livid at Eren for being so heartless and sadistic.

Eren turned back and sighed. “But I guess it’s better if I save the best for last, right? I mean, how long have you guys been at it? Four years? Man, that’s gonna hurt like a bitch.”

“You said that you had to pluck out the bad seeds,” Annie muttered. Her level tone was envious in this sort of situation, but there was no doubt that she too was scared out of her mind. “What makes you think that those doctors and your father were bad people?”

Eren’s jaw twitched and his voice rose in his response: “Annie, I swear to God, if you open your mouth again, I will snap your spine in half.”

“Shut the fuck up, Eren!” Armin fired. “You’re sick, sick and cruel. You deserve to rot in a dark little cell for the rest of your sorry life!”

Mikasa started crying softly as Eren shouted back, “I thought you wanted answers, Armin. Don’t you want to know how useless my father was at saving my mother’s life? How he just stood by and watched her wither away? He was a doctor—he should’ve known what was wrong with her and saved her. But he was stupid and pitiful and-and he just fucking watched her die! She was in pain and did absolutely fucking nothing. He and all those doctors deserved what was coming to them. They let people die while having the knowledge of medicine and the workings of the human body under their belts. I’m saving others by getting rid of the useless ones!”

“They’re just people, Eren! People don’t always have the answers to everything. There are some things that they just don’t know. I’m sorry what happened to Carla—”

“No, you fucking aren’t! You have no idea what it felt like—”

“I lost my own mother at the hands of a drunk driver, you selfish little prick! Carla was my second mother and you have the audacity to think I didn’t lose a part of myself when she died? Get your head out of your ass and wake up! The world doesn’t bow down to your problems and you’re an imprudent child for thinking otherwise.”

“Please, Eren, Armin.” Mikasa tugged at Eren’s arm, at his bloody arm, and looked at the space between them, as wide and deep as outer space. “Please, can’t we go back to what we once were? Just let it all fall behind us and go back to living like how we used to?”

She plastered on a tiny smile and peered at her boys, nodding like it could actually work. “Remember when we paired up for a science experiment in school? We made a little plane out of cardboard and it flew around the classroom like a…like a little bird. And those countless sleepovers at your house, Eren. Carla always made some sort of special treat and once popped out and scared us while Armin told us ghost stories. Remember…remember…” A sob got stuck in her throat and she choked out, “Please. Please let’s go back to those days.”

Armin wanted to feel bad for her and comfort her in probably the most painful moment of her life right now. But she was truly blind if she believed something like that could ever happen.

He sighed and tightened his grip on her wrist again. “We’re past the point of no return, Mikasa.”

Eren glared back at her. “And one of those people in that memory is dead. We can’t go back even if we wanted to.”

Armin’s gaze landed on Annie behind Eren. Her eyes drifted from Mikasa to Armin and he noticed her reach for her back pocket. She slowly pulled out her hunting knife but kept it hidden behind her back.

He pursed his lips. Even now, he didn’t want to hurt Eren—he would have to turn into a bad person in order to take down another one. But, like he said, they were past the point of no return and he would be a hypocrite if he didn’t go with his own claim. So, he took hold of Mikasa’s hand with his left one and gave one last attempt at saving her heart.

“Mikasa, you know this is wrong. You know Eren is only using you. If he cared, he wouldn’t be treating you like this, like you’re something disposable. Save yourself, think for yourself for God’s sake. You deserve better, Mikasa. Please, don’t let one person take control of your entire existence. You are capable of wonderful things, I know, and you’re limiting yourself by tolerating this madness. If you want those days back so badly, then recreate them with someone new.” He coated on his own smile like fresh wallpaper. “Let me take you back home, so you can find a new happiness, a new reason to live.”

More tears slid down her slender cheeks like the raindrops on a windowpane. She looked at him with such a broken expression that it hurt him to look back. Her hold on Eren loosened and slipped down to his fingers. That invisible string that tied them together was slowly unknotting itself.

She glanced back at Eren. He stared at her with a hard look, eyes focused on the plan which she was a part of. His voice was not merciful when he spoke: “You have to fight for your life, Mikasa. The world is full of people who will try to take it from you and watch you drown. You have to fight back; you’re never safe. If you want to live, then you must fight for what you want because everyone will stop at nothing to make you meaningless. Fight back, Mikasa. Your strength and determination is all you have, so use it.”

Armin felt all hope drain from him when he saw Mikasa shift back to Eren and knew there was nothing that could save her now or ever. And so, he grinded his teeth together, yanked Mikasa back, and shouted, “Now, Annie!”

Like lightning she struck. She whipped out her knife, stormed the two giant steps it took to reach Eren, hopped on his back, and drove the weapon into his shoulder.

Eren gasped and Mikasa screamed. Armin put all his strength into holding her back, locking his arms around her waist and crushing her against his side. He tried moving them toward the back door but that was asking too much of his physical power. Mikasa wiggled in his grasp like a worm, shrieking “Stop! No! Please!” over and over again. She pounded at his hands and it was like getting his fingers caught in a car door multiple times. It hurt obviously, but he couldn’t afford to lose another soul tonight, so he held on tighter, even if it would cost him a few broken fingers.

He managed to catch Annie torturing Eren. She rotated the knife in his shoulder and Eren howled in pain. He twisted around and tried to fling her off his back, but she didn’t budge. Armin saw the muscles in her thighs constrict around Eren’s ribs. He coughed and gasped for air. Frankly, if she tried hard enough, she just might suffocate him (or at least break a few bones) with her legs alone.

Eren reached back and grabbed her flowing bangs and jerked them forward. She hardly made a sound and looked him dead in the eye as she retracted the knife and then shoved it into his exposed arm.

His own blood mixed in with the remains of Historia as he unleashed another painful cry. Mikasa wailed in response and then Armin saw her elbow ram itself into his nose and felt another blow at his hipbone. She grabbed one of his hands and pulled back his pinkie finger until it made a sickening snapping sound.

Armin yelped and fell against the door as Mikasa ran over to Eren. She flung herself at Annie and knocked them both into the wall opposite of Armin. Annie’s clutch on her knife was like iron and it ripped out of Eren’s arm as she fell to the side. Blood spattered onto the wall and floor.

Eren grunted like a raging bull, holding his blood-drenched arm as he watched Mikasa and Annie struggle beneath him. He swung his leg back and aimed for Annie’s gut, but Armin’s instincts pushed his feet forward, his hands wrapping around Eren’s throat despite the useless pinkie finger he now had.

They fell to the floor with a crash. Armin sat on Eren’s stomach and dug his thumbs into his Adam’s apple, pain shooting up his own hand as he did so. Armin heard such violent noises behind him: the breaking of glass, bones smashing bone, low grunts and heavy breathing. He had to get Annie out of there. Mikasa will eat her alive if he didn’t get to her time. He already wasted enough time by explaining to Marco and Jean Eren’s intentions and trying to equip a weapon of his own. Would he have to kill Mikasa just to get her off of Annie?

He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice Eren fish out a switchblade from his pocket and push it into Armin’s calf.

Fire erupted in his leg and his pant leg quickly filled up with blood once Eren withdrew the blade. He gasped and his grip on him loosened, providing Eren with an opportunity to attack again which he grabbed at once. He smashed a fist into the side of Armin’s face and a memory blasted at the familiar feeling of playground bullies. Dumb kids driving fists and kicks into his body for being the teacher’s pet and in came Eren, swinging his arms and squawking like a bird, saving his ass countless times.

Now look where they were.

Eren pushed Armin to the side and then rolled on top of him, knife in hand. Armin saw Mikasa throw a punch at Annie but she jumped out of the way just in time and Mikasa’s hand was swallowed up by the drywall of the kitchen. Annie sliced at her arm with her hunting knife, now glistening with fresh blood. Mikasa yanked her fist out of the wall and brought it back to Annie in one swift movement. It collided with her nose and she stumbled in the process. Her eyes landed on Armin underneath Eren and lightning struck her eyes, creating a fire he never saw in her before.

“I’ll make you bleed!” Eren hollered. “I’ll make you suffer for everything you’ve done!”

Armin caught Eren’s arm, the one that Annie slashed up, before he could thrust the switchblade into his face. He watched in absolute fear as the shiny blade slowly inched forward, Eren’s bright, hungry eyes flashing in the dark. He saw his rigid jawbone, his sharp teeth, felt his blood drip onto his forehead. Here is where he would die, Armin believed, at the hands of his best friend, in his dusty old cabin in the middle of the woods, sinking in blood and fury. For a moment, he expected his life to flash across his eyes—that’s what everyone experienced at the brink of death, didn’t they?—but nothing showed up. He could only see the knife and Eren’s enraged fire.

Eren suddenly snapped back. Annie’s pale hand ripped the blade out of his grasp but it easily slipped out of her fingers and clattered to the floor on the other side of the room. He tried sitting up, but Eren was on top of him before he could get too far. He threw his weight on his shoulders and Armin twisted around to get another look at Annie.

She was on her stomach on the floor, further away from him than she was before. A large bloodstain soaked through her sweatshirt on her right shoulder and expanded rapidly. The bun on top of her head had become undone and her disheveled blonde locks hung in her face. She was panting heavily and crawling her way over to him.

Mikasa had snapped up from her place on the floor in the living room with Annie’s hunting knife in her hand. Her nose was bashed in and blood caked her mouth as if she took a huge bite out of Annie’s shoulder. She grabbed onto Annie’s legs and Armin watched Mikasa as she swung her arm violently to the side and a river of red bloomed up from Annie’s lower back.

Annie’s eyes bulged and a short scream escaped from her. Her hand touched her spine and it came back soaked. She sluggishly twisted back to face Mikasa again, but it was the wrong move to make. Mikasa had grabbed one of the few beer bottles still standing on the kitchen counter, lifted it high above her head, and whacked it hard against Annie’s skull. The bottle exploded; pieces sprinkled among the tiles of the kitchen floor, unfinished beer drowning them.

Annie was now laying on her back, her face turned away from him. As dark blood pooled around her hips, growing at a horrifyingly rapid speed, he saw two or three large shiny glass pieces protruding from the right side of her face. Her body did not move.

His throat ripped itself in two as Armin screamed her name.


	15. The Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me (Jean POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TRIGGER WARNING: references of suicide and depression are mentioned in this chapter. Read with caution if you are sensitive to these topics. 
> 
> Written by: blueTshirts**

1:02 AM 

“This isn’t right, Jean,” Marco whispers as we climb the stairs leading to the second floor of the cabin. We should be feeling some sort of security now that we can hide away for a bit but I can’t help but think that shit is continuing to get worse. 

“Eren helped Zeke kill those people at the hospital and now he’s trying to kill us.”

Armin’s words are buzzing in my head along with the faces of Ymir and Historia. I see Sasha’s bloody hands and dull eyes. I hear Connie’s wailing cries and Marco’s heaving breaths. Marco’s terrified face as he was buried alive. 

All because of Eren. And Armin has known the whole time.

“Jean,” Marco says again, his footsteps slowing as we reach the hall at the top of the stairs. “We should stay with him.” 

I press a hand into the small of Marco’s back to try and get him to keep going. We just need to wait this out. Armin said that he was able to get in touch with someone and that help is coming. It shouldn’t be long before we don’t have to be here anymore. 

“Marco please,” I say with a tremble in my voice as my hands shake at Marco’s back. I look past him down the dark hallway that leads to more unknowns, more risks, more danger. What if Armin is part of this too? What if we were being set up? 

My chin trembles as I stare down the hallway with tears in my eyes. I can’t take this anymore. I can’t feel like this anymore. 

Marco’s head turns to me as I step beside him. I shift my hand from his back to his arm, holding his elbow in a hidden way to tell him that I’m losing my mental strength. I continue to look down the hallway as my mind creates menacing shadows that threaten to swallow us up in this madness. 

“Jean,” Marco says again. I love the way Marco says my name. I always have. Whenever he says my name it’s like I’m being seen. It’s like he’s presenting me to the world, like he wants everyone to know that I’m here and I’m worth it. That the world needs me and that he needs me. But now all I can hear is the wavering of Marco’s voice. The uncertainty, the fear, the exhaustion. He needs me but I don’t know if I can be there for him right now. I don’t think I can even handle myself. 

I can’t bring my eyes to Marco’s but I see them in my head. I see his chocolate eyes speckled with gold just like his skin. I see him in the light of the summer where he smiles as wind tousles his hair. I see him when he laughs in ugly snorts and scrunches his button nose. I remember what he looked like when we went on vacation and we spent the whole day on the beach. Marco tanned up like a Greek god and I burnt like a marshmallow. But it was one of the happiest days of my life. One of the happiest days of our lives. I try to keep the pleasant image of Marco’s eyes in my head rather than seeing the painful fear that’s in them now.

“Please Marco,” I say into the dark. “Let’s just do what Armin said.” 

Marco pauses. I know what he’s thinking. I know that he hates leaving Armin and Annie at the mercy of Eren and Mikasa. I know he hates that we split up with Reiner, Berthold, and Connie. I know his mind is eating away at itself with the unhinged guilt he feels for what happened to Sasha. 

But we can’t do this, Marco. You can’t do this. And I can’t do this without you.

“We need-”

Marco and I freeze as a subtle voice slithers up the stairs and pierces our ears. I hold my breath as my heart pounds harder and harder in my throat. It’s so quiet, barely heard among that terror in my head, any other time I wouldn’t have even acknowledged it. 

Eren. 

We turn to look down in the murky darkness to see Armin, our friend who sent us to safety possibly at the cost of his own life, standing a foot away from a murderer looking him dead in the eyes. 

I want to scream. I want to scream for Armin to run, despite that he may be involved in this I want to yell at Eren for what happened to Sasha. I want to make him pay for what he’s done to Ymir and Historia and Connie. I want him to feel the same fear Marco felt as he was being suffocated by the earth. I want him to feel the same fear I felt when I thought that I’d lost the person I love more than anything. 

But I can’t. What if he has a gun? What if he kills Armin after he finds out that Marco and I are here? What if I ruin everything before help can arrive? What if Marco gets hurt?

“Eren probably already knows you’re here.”

Panic washes through my body and it finally does something helpful for me. With my trembling grip on Marco’s arm, I yank his stiff body down the dooming hallway and that should gift us solace. But of course I should’ve known that Marco’s reaction would be the opposite of mine. 

Marco tries to turn back down the stairs. His body beaten, his brain broken, and his logic lost. He doesn’t care that he’s hurt and scared, he still wants to help his friends. But he’s so out of his wits that even if he tried to help he’d probably only make it worse. 

He could get someone hurt by accident. He could get himself hurt, or worse. We need to trust Armin and hope to God that this isn’t some act. We need to let Armin take care of himself. Armin can do this. If he can’t get through to Eren then we’re fucked. 

Marco yanks his arm in my grasp but I’m quick to wrap another hand around his elbow and pull. I can feel myself crying. It’s silent. I’m aware of every breath that struggles out of my nose and each slip of my boots on the hardwood floor. He can’t know that we’re up here. We’ll die. We’re going to die. We’re going to die. We’re going to die. 

Marco stumbles a couple steps down the hallway thanks to my desperate pulling. I can feel my breath tempting on hyperventilating as Marco continues to barrell towards the stairs. 

He turns back to me, his face scrunched into fear and fight. But the fighting urge in him collapses when he sees me. I can feel my eyes flash mirrors of panic amongst the dark. Every part of me is fighting to run. Every part of me wants Marco to hide with me until the night is over. Every part of me is pulling on Marco, begging, to protect ourselves. 

I look at him as tears collect under my jaw. My fingertips curl into his shirt and I don’t dare sniff my oozing sinuses in fear that I’ll make too much noise. I’m shaking my head at him and looking at him like he’s a deadman walking into the gallows. 

“Please, please, please,” I whisper over and over, so quiet that I can’t even hear myself. 

Marco’s lips tighten into a thin line as hopelessness wrinkles his eyebrows. I don’t care what he thinks of me right now. I may be some pathetic whimpering child so codependent on Marco that I’d die without him, but it’s this moment that could save both of our lives. 

Marco gives in, his own eyes shimmering with another onslaught of tears, and he lets me drag him further into the dark hall. 

My legs wobble with every step as we walk down the hall. My fingers drag along the wall feeling through the darkness for a door. I keep a death grip with my other hand on Marco’s wrist still not trusting that he won’t turn the first chance he gets. 

Each step tempts my legs to give out and make me collapse to the floor. I feel like we’re walking down a wooden plank that leads us to a plummeting death. Maybe we are. 

My fingers stretch over the frame of a door. My chest skips. I lower my hand to find a doorknob. Thank god. 

I twist the doorknob slowly so that it doesn’t make any noise, then yank Marco inside as soon as the door is open wide enough. I can feel myself already starting to lose my poorly contained facade as I close the door quietly once again. My breaths come out of me in hiccuping sobs. I can’t see my hands through the inky darkness that distorts everything into a dooming version of danger.

Once the door is closed, I let go. I gasp for sour air thick with wretched darkness, my hands reaching out to frantically grab at my boyfriend. Marco reaches back for me and pulls me into his hold. 

My hands fist into the fabric of his shirt around his back. His hand goes to my hair to push my choking cries into his shoulder to muffle the sound. He backs us up further into the room. I’m almost too scared to venture farther into the room because we have no fucking idea what’s in here. For all we know there could be another trap meant just for the two of us. 

“Eren probably already knows you’re here.” 

“Wait, wait, wait,” I choke, digging my heels into the carpet before Marco can pull us deeper into the unknown. “What if there’s a trap?” 

Marco stops with me, his arm around my shoulder and his hand still in my hair. I feel his throat constrict with a swallow. 

“Give me your phone,” Marco says softly. 

I freeze. “What if he sees the light?” 

“He won’t,” Marco says. 

“How do you-?”

“He won’t, Jean.” 

My eyebrows knit in pained anxiety. I reluctantly release one on my hands from Marco’s back to dig my phone out of my pocket and hand it to him. 

He presses the power button lighting my lock screen photo of Marco sitting next to a short snowman and sweeps the dull light across the room behind him. 

It looks like a normal bedroom. A bed sits in the center taking up most of the space. Curtains hang along the far wall and a small bathroom is in the corner. From what I can see there are no bear traps or arrow traps or land mines awaiting us. 

I bite the inside of my cheek anxiously as Marco leads us to the bed. He shifts me around with his hands on my shoulders to make me sit while he walks to the far end of the room to open the curtains. 

The soft glow from the moon allows enough light in the room so we can at least see each other. The panic in my chest eases now that we’re not completely in the dark. Marco stashes my phone in his back pocket and comes to sit with me on the bed. 

A second wave of crying washes through me when he wraps his arms around me. I try to stay as quiet as I can as I let some of the pressure of the fear fizzle out of me. My chest hurts. Like an acid reflux so bad that I want to double over and groan. A fluttering fear that maybe I was poisoned circles around my head and then exits my mind when I remember that I have anxiety attacks regularly. Although in this case I’m pretty sure anyone would have an anxiety attack. 

I let the panic wash through me now that we’re in an almost safe place for a few moments, I might fall apart if I have to fake it out much longer, I need to just let this happen so I can get it out of my system. 

I cry into Marco’s shoulder, “Why did you fucking do that? Why-why would you do that? Armin said to h-hide, he told us to fucking hide.” 

Marco doesn’t answer me, he merely rubs his fingers over the column of my spine as my back jerks with my violent breathing. I get stuck on a breath and I continue to inhale sharp, quick gasps until I can’t anymore, my lungs are filled to their capacity and yet my body won’t release the carbon dioxide. My chest burns and my hands tighten on Marco and my head thunders with pumping blood. 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck, I feel like I’m dying. I’m dying. 

“Breathe Jean, breathe, I’m here, it’s okay,” Marco says as he continues to try and soothe my frantic movements. This isn’t the first time Marco’s had to help me through an anxiety attack. He’s learned not to panic anymore. I have no idea how he’s stuck with me through all of this. It’s insane that the universe gave me someone as great as Marco. I don’t even care that I have anxiety attacks anymore now that he’s here. I used to have to go through them alone. 

With my inhale still locked in my body from my closing throat, Marco clasps his hands around the side of my face and tries to level me with eye contact. This could get so much fucking worse if I passed out. 

“Come on Jean, don’t do this,” Marco says with worry, making his eyes look desperate. His fingertips press into the sides of my head and I start to see everything in tilted blurs.

My gritted teeth wrench open as stuttered breaths escape me in chopped gasps. My body still feels the need to inhale with my thrumming chest but I try to control my iron lungs like I’m yanking a dull hand saw over cement covered plywood. 

My breathing finally returns to a mild hyperventilation, but once a sufficient amount of oxygen has startled my brain, everything goes so blurry that my eyes roll into the back of my head. 

“Nonono, Jean,” Marco stammers as he redirects my loose body so that I’m sat on the edge of the bed with my head between my legs. The pressure of my chest forces me to breathe slower breaths and lets blood travel to my brain. I groan as the blurred grayness of my vision starts to clear up. “Keep breathing, baby,” Marco says as he presses kisses into my spine. 

“This,” I say through the fuzziness in my head, “is what, you get.” 

I feel Marco shake his head against my back. “Don’t, Jean.”

“I don’t,” I start to say as I begin to sit up too early. My vision starts to swirl again but I don’t really care. “I don’t want you to die, Marco,” I say through slurred tongue. 

I blink at him as he looks at me like a wounded animal. He brings his hand that was rubbing my back up to the base of my neck to swipe this thumb through the short hairs. I wait for him to tell me that he isn’t going to die and that everything is going to be okay. I wait for him to kiss me and tell me that we’ll stay here until we see red and blue lights through the trees. I wait for him to tell me that he’ll stay with me even if things get worse. 

Tears lift in my eyes again as Marco says nothing. My exhausted brain that coughs on the aftereffects of an anxiety attack and whines with the emotional turmoil can barely process the pain that grows in me as Marco looks at me like he has disappointed me. 

“I love you, Jean,” Marco says with a pained smile. “But I have to do what’s right, I can’t live with myself if we let something bad happen.” 

“I won’t be able to live with myself if you die.” The empty tears slip down my cheeks, Marco brushes them away with his fingers. 

Marco blinks slowly and looks out the windows. He presses his lips together and looks back at me. My gut curls the longer I look at him. “I’ll protect you,” he says with such sincerity I almost believe him. 

I shake my head and a soft smile curls my lips. I’m losing him. “I know you will,” I say, trying to keep the crumbling cracks from breaking my voice. “You always do.” 

Marco's eyes weigh heavy with overwhelming sadness. His gaze lowers until he’s staring at nothing in the black and white room. If only I could kiss away this terror. If only we could escape this by holding each other tight and whispering lovely praises to one another. If only we didn’t have to reach the limits of our courage and fight for earth shattering morals. 

“Jean-”

“I’ll try to find something to clean you up,” I say knowing Marco wants to tell me he’s sorry, that he only wants to make me happy, that he wishes he didn’t have to make these choices. I won’t let him. Why would I let Marco, the man I love with every part of me, apologize for doing what he thinks is right? I fell in love with a golden light that grows hope from his hands and heals wounds with words. I fell in love with the embodiment of strength and love who lifts spirits with optimistic positivity. Marco taught me what it’s like to be vulnerable, to trust, and to accept life for all its edges. I was shown the freedom of self love and the light of experience. I learned what it felt like to live with Marco, he’s given so much and there’s no way for me to pay him back except loving him with everything I can. I want Marco to lead a life he’s proud of, I want him to be proud of me, and I want his happiness above anything else. 

I stand from the bed, feeling like the floor is on wobbly plates. When I figure out my balance, I turn back to Marco who looks up at me like the time I told him about my battle with depression. His eyes weary and his frown subtle, but over all else, understanding. 

I bend to kiss him on the head to avoid his nose, then turn to squint through the darkness. How probable is a first aid kit stashed in here somewhere? 

Marco stands his balance also fumbling, “I’ll help.”

I smile and shake my head. “You’re impossible.”

“Love you too,” he hums as he pulls out my phone and breaks open the flashlight. 

I stumble toward the bathroom as Marco rifles through drawers. By habit, I flip on the lightswitch. 

I nearly scream my head off when the lightswitch obeys my command. Bright lighting fills the bathroom and sends my eyes wailing in pain. I flip the switch off the moment I get my head screwed on straight and fumble away from the bathroom like it’s haunted. 

I make eye contact with Marco who’s squatting in front of the side table. His face mirrors the same bewilderment. 

“Did you just-?”

I nod.

“And they worked?”

“Yup.” At this point I’m not going to start questioning weird shit that happens. We’re far beyond comprehending the extent of Eren’s influence tonight. I wouldn’t be surprised if Eren staged the power outage just to start playing his game. 

If only one of us had tried to turn on a light earlier.

Marco’s eyes flick between me and the bathroom. He then looks up at the lamp on the bedside table and pulls on the small chain beneath the shade. The light blinks on and Marco tilts his head like an amused puppy. “Huh.”

I skitter to the lamp and turn it off hissing at Marco, “Are you seriously that stupid?” 

Marco looks up at me with a smile. “Babe, I highly doubt Eren’s going to see a little lamp from all the way downstairs.” 

“Yeah? Well no one thought he’d be a serial killer either, and look where we are.” 

Marco sighs. “I think he’s a little occupied right now, plus if he did see it then maybe it’d give Armin and Annie some leverage.” 

“Or he’ll waltz up here and murk our asses.” 

Marco stares up at me with a flat expression. How did we get here? Talking like Eren being a serial murderer is such a normal thing. “Can we at least turn on the bathroom light?” 

I pause, pouting. Honestly, Marco’s right, Eren’s probably not going to see the small light from downstairs. It’s just the possibility that he might see it is what scares me. 

“Fine,” I mutter. “But I’m cracking the door.” 

“Yeah yeah,” Marco mumbles as he continues to dig through the drawers. 

I escape into the bathroom, close the door to just a crack, and flip on the light. I blink through the invasive brightness until my eyes have adjusted properly. 

Then I see myself for the first time tonight. 

Fuck. 

I grimace at my ghoulish reflection. I’m covered in dirt, mud, and grime. Sweat leaves every part of my skin sticky and shiny. Blood flakes in cracked patterns off my hands and forearms. Sasha’s blood. What I’m assuming is vomit stains my shirt around miscellaneous tears in the fabric. My eyes look like they’ve sunken an inch into my face and my hair is fucked up every which kind of way. 

I let the faucet run some water over my hands and pat it over my face before quickly shutting the valve off. I don’t know how silent the plumbing is in this fucked up cabin. I run my wet hands through my hair to fix some of it. It doesn’t work. 

I sigh at my face again and begin looking for shit to clean Marco up with. 

“Jean?” Marco’s voice calls in a whisper from the bedroom. 

I whip the door open and frantically look around the room for my boyfriend to make sure no one has snuck into the room after us. 

Thankfully we’re still alone as my eyes fall on Marco who’s standing next to an open door that I thought was supposed to be a closet. The look on his face tells me it’s anything but a closet. 

I tread carefully to Marco and squint into the small room. It could be a closet but it’s far from it. My gut sags as the glow from four computer monitors flash tiled black, white, and green recordings back at me. This is fucking insane. 

“Think this is what Armin was talking about?” Marco mutters just as horrified as I am. 

I step into the small room. It's warm with the heat radiating off the copious amount of technical equipment. My eyes scan over the monitors. Each of them are split into nine sectioned pictures. Like a tic-tac-toe board. Each of the pictures are of a room in the cabin or a space of the woods. The film is grainier when it's outside. My brain short circuits when I recognize something. 

“Is that the barn?” I whisper pointing to the picture of the face of an old barn in green hues in the far corner. My eyes flick to the picture below it. “Oh my god.” 

“Jesus,” Marco curses behind me. 

A birds eye view of the inside of the barn. In the middle of the frame lies Ymir’s deserted body, and in the corner, Sasha’s legs poke into view. 

My chest clutches in an ache of pain. “This is sick.” 

“He’s been watching us the whole time,” Marco says. “Look there’s the cars, and that’s the guest bedroom. That even looks like the highway.” Marco points at the frames as he explains them. I draw my attention to the recording of the highway hoping Bert, Reiner, and Connie will come into view.

My finger trembles as I point at another green colored tile with a black hole in the center. “That’s the grave isn’t it?”

“Think so,” Marco mumbles. 

All these cameras. From what we can see, Eren has set up at least thirty six of these fucking things. How did he do this? Why? If he wanted to kill us so badly, then why take all the time to play these games? 

I think about the bodies that were discarded here from the Zeke killings. What if that’s the reason all these fucked up traps are everywhere? What if Zeke and Eren played with their victims before killing them? 

Nausea bubbles in my gut and I have to look away for a moment. 

“Mikasa and Annie are in the kitchen now too,” Marco says. “Fuck, I don’t think there’s audio on this thing.” I squeeze my eyes shut turning and running my hands through my hair. God, my head hurts. 

Marco keeps his attention on the camera as I look around the rest of the closet. I freeze at the giant cork board behind us. 

Pictures. Newspaper clippings. Neighborhood maps. I look at all the faces in the pictures. I don’t recognize them but I think I know who they are by the surrounding articles. Missing. Missing. Missing. Found, Jaeger Estate. Zeke Jaeger Convicted of 1st Degree Murder. Memorial at Trost Hospital. 

The police would’ve found this, right? That means Eren would’ve put all of this back up. 

“Oh god,” I whine looking down at some short shelves beneath the boards. Something catches my eyes and I reach out for it. A gun. A little handgun in a leather belt holster. I’m surprised Eren doesn’t have it on him. “Dude, look.” 

Marco peeks over my shoulder and his hand reaches up to his mouth. “Jesus Christ.” 

“This kid needs to die,” I say looking back at the bulletin of blood. 

“Jean-”

“Don’t tell me he doesn’t deserve to die.” 

I hear Marco sigh from his nose. “No one deserves to die.” 

I look at him over my shoulder. “Well he certainly doesn’t deserve to live.” 

Marco slowly nods. A flicker echos over one of the frames on the monitors. I squint at the picture stepping back towards the monitors to get a better look. 

One of the outdoor cameras, a shift of movement jerks around the corner. The next camera gets a better view of two people running through the woods. 

“Is that Reiner and Berthold? Why are they running the opposite direction of the highway? Are they fucking dumb? They’re coming back to the cabin,” I ask, feeling my hands clench into fists. Something slithers fingers of all encompassing anxiety into my mind. “Where’s Connie? ” 

Marco looks at the screen next to me. “Reiner’s-Reiner’s holding him.” 

“What-” I squint at the figures on the screen. It’s not hard to tell which one’s Reiner and which one is Berthold. I focus on the bigger one looking at the figure in his arms. His body is discolored to black but I can see the roundness of his head. “W-Why?” I ask, feeling dread build in my chest. “Why is he holding him? What happened?” 

A small gasp comes from Marco’s lips. I look up at him. His eyes fill with tears just like in the hallway. “Didn’t Connie, you know...” he pauses looking back at the screen with dismay. “He ate the same popcorn Sasha did.” 

My mind reflects back to when me, Marco, Sasha, and Connie were playing cards earlier. Sasha had a fat bowl of aromatic popcorn in her lap that she and Connie finished together. I was so wrapped up with what was happening to Sasha that I didn’t even think of Connie. 

“Shit shit shit, no, Connie can’t-he won’t-he’ll, fuck,” I stutter as dawning realization burns holes into my heart. I can’t lose him too. Connie can’t die. Connie doesn’t deserve to die. Sasha didn’t deserve to die. None of them do. 

For the first time I feel that same need Marco does. The need to do something reckless to save someone’s life. I look up at Marco. “What do we-”

A bealting cry echoes into the bedroom. Marco and I both look towards the cameras. The kitchen. A light haired figure is wrapped around a dark figure’s back with a knife in their shoulder. 

Armin is holding Mikasa a safe distance away from the struggling pair. Annie is attacking Eren. 

“Holy fucking shit,” I breathe. “How-”

In what seems like fragments of moments. Mikasa rips out of Armin’s grasp, rams herself into Annie backpacking Eren, and then proceeds to start nailing Annie with the heel of her foot. Eren goes to join his sister but is knocked to the ground when Armin lunges at him. 

The couples struggle and I’m holding my breath watching in horror. 

“We have to go-” Marco starts but I’ve already clamped my hand around his arm. 

“Wait,” I cry, “Reiner and Berthold should be there any moment.” 

“They’re hurt, Jean-”

“Marco, help is coming, just wait-”

“They’re going to die!” 

“So will we!” 

Marco looks at me searching for something. I don’t know if it’s defiance, desperation, or denial, but he’s so torn I can practically see his teeth grinding together.

Marco opens his mouth to say something but a howling scream rings through the cabin instead. The sound is filled with such pain that it makes me want to curl into a ball and glue my hands to my ears. 

We look back at the cameras. Annie is lying on the ground with Mikasa standing over her. My gut drops to the floor. 

“Jean-”

“There they are,” I sputter seeing Berthold open the back door for Reiner. Mikasa, Armin, and Eren pause to look up at the couple. A shuttering gasp escapes me when I watch Reiner step inside and lay a limp Connie on the floor next to them. 

The pause in the fight has the hair on my arm rising. I just hope this pause holds out until help is here. 

That’s when Reiner raises the shotgun at Mikasa. 

“No nononono,” Marco says as he rips himself from my weak hold and busts it out of the bedroom. 

I know what I said about letting Marco do what he thinks is right. I’ve known since Eren dragged Historia’s bloody body into the cabin that Marco was going to jump in the first moment he could help. I know he wants to help, I know what his heart is telling him, and I know I can’t take away a part of Marco that makes him the man I love. But it feels like he’s dry sand slipping through my fingers. I can’t let him throw himself to the wind. I can’t let him drift away from me. I need him.

I chase after him screaming his name. This can’t be it. I can’t let him do this. Not now. If we just wait a little longer then help will arrive. We can get Annie and Connie help. We don’t have to do this. We don’t have to do this. We don’t have to do this. 

“Please don’t do this,” I scream, lunging at Marco and managing to grab his shirt before he can make it to the stairs. I fall to my knees with his shirt in my hand and Marco nearly tumbles forward. But he’s still standing. He’s still standing while I have the disadvantage. I can’t stop him. “Marco!” 

He turns to me with a soft smile of his plush lips. He looks down at me like it’s a morning after a night spent fucking and he thinks he never seen something so beautiful in his life. My heart breaks. 

He bends as he curls his fingers around mine that are fisted in his shirt and presses a kiss into my sweaty forehead. With his face close to mine he smiles. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Jean Kirstien.”

Then he’s gone. 

I’m frozen for a moment that feels like a million. He’s gone. The love of my life. The reason I want to live to see what old age would be like. The best thing that’s ever happened to me. 

I’m screaming but I don’t hear myself. I don’t hear anything as I stand and sprint after Marco who’s waving his hands at our friend who’s brought a gun to a knife fight. He’s going to kill someone. Everyone knows it. And Marco isn’t going to let anyone die even if they deserve it.

Eren and Armin are beating each other bloody. Mikasa somehow has a knife raised in her hand and aimed at Annie. Reiner points the gun at Mikasa with a calm look on his face. Bert is looking at Marco running down the stairs. 

“Don’t shoot!” I hear Marco scream as the chaos rings back into my head. “Don’t shoot!” 

I watch for Marco’s trajectory as I fly down the steps in twos. He’s not going after Reiner. He’s going after Mikasa. Instead of going to hit the gun out of Reiner’s hands he’s going to push Mikasa out of the way.

“Marco!” I scream feeling hot tears choking my cries. “NO!”

The gunshot rings a new pain in my head. The shot is so loud and so piercing that I stumble and collapse on the ground. I feel like my head was bar smashed on a rough drinking night. 

My brain only thinks of Marco in the thick fog. 

I roll onto my stomach and blink at the body on the floor. 

No. No. Nonononono. I drag my body across the floor until I’m able to gather myself on my knees and stare blankly at the bloody mess sent flinging across the inside of the cabin. 

It’s his old Converse that are his most defining part of him at that moment. 

I crawl towards his body. My palms and knees prick with sharp pains as glass fragments rind into my skin. But that’s nothing. Those pierces of pain have nothing on the part of me that I’ve just lost. 

I always wondered what it would feel like to drown in the ocean, or to burn up in a fire, or to starve alone on an island. 

I’m sure it’s better than this. 

I’ve known what it’s like to want to die. I’ve known what it’s like to cut so deep into my skin that blood oozes out of me like rain out of a gutter. I’ve known what it’s like to wake up in the hospital with the horrifying knowledge that you failed. 

But now, here is my other half. Fuck that shit where people say you shouldn’t need a second half. Those people don’t know what it’s like to lose yourself slowly over years of a deteriorating mind. Marco is a part of me. I am myself because Marco is in my life. I am nothing without him. 

The hole left in my chest are particles of dust compared to the blasted bits off of Marco’s head. As I crawl, my hand slips in warm blood and my jeans soak with it. When I’m in an arm’s reach of him I stop. I stop to scream throat ripping cries at the corpse Marco has been made of. 

The rest of his body is untouched and lays there like he would be just fine if I could just pick up the lost pieces of him and put him back together real quick. Maybe I could do that. I’ll just put him back together. He’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. 

My eyes drift across the room. Everyone is frozen, even Eren. And then my eyes meet Reiner’s. 

That’s when my mind clicks again. I can’t pick up the pieces of Marco’s brain and put him back together. Marco’s dead. 

Hyperventilating sets my burning chest into firing explosions like my body is falling apart as my mind implodes on itself. I look back at Marco and start screaming again. I claw at my eyes and bend forward to rest my head on the ground. My livid forehead isn’t met with cool hardwood but with the hot slick of blood. I choke and vomit between my knees. 

The beach. Think of the beach. Think of that time that Marco lost his phone on that roller coaster and we tried to break into fenced off woods to find it. Think of that time he gave his flip flops to a drunk guy so he wouldn’t have to walk home without shoes. Think of that time Marco spent all morning coloring my tattoos with crayola markers. Think of that time he found a kitten and held it in his cupped hands the whole drive home. Think of that time he spent four hours trying to perfect the Cup Song. 

Think of the way his tongue pokes out when he’s concentrating on cutting vegetables. Think of the way he’d always call out road signs when we went on road trips. Think of the way he liked to pose like a model whenever he was trying on clothes. Think of the way he always pretended he didn’t eat the last ice cream sandwich and blamed it on Sasha. 

Remember his groggy pre-coffee voice. Remember his tired, out-Netflixed eyes. Remember his blushed cheeks whenever he got tipsy. Remember his bouncing leg or tapping finger when we were sitting for too long. Remember his wrinkled nose whenever he didn’t like the taste of something. Remember his smile when he played with Sasha and Connie’s dog. 

Don’t let him leave you. Hold on to whatever part you can grasp before they’re butchered with bloody, fear stained memories. He can’t really be gone if you keep him in your head. 

The beach. His tousled hair. His freckled cheeks. His sun lit smile. His gold flecked eyes. His eyes. His eyes. His-

I look up at the gorey mess of Marco’s body. 

His eyes are gone. 

Something snaps inside of me. I think of Connie after Sasha died, the silent horror stiffing Connie’s body as he led himself into a murderous rage. I understand that now. My leaking eyes drift up to Mikasa and I stare at her as the untamed rage sets my body on hellfire. She did this. They all did this.

She’s going to die. They’re all going to die.


	16. In a Moment (Berthold POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TRIGGER WARNING: A SUICIDE occurs in this chapter. If you are sensitive to this topic, please read with extreme caution. We DO NOT encourage the act of suicide in any way, shape, or form. Please read carefully. 
> 
> Written by: blueTshirts**

1:10 AM 

“Reiner, what’s wrong?”

Reiner has stopped just as the cabin is within a few steps reach. Connie’s fragile body is held in Reiner thick arms, Reiner mumbles to himself around muffled cries. A gust of wind cools the sweat along my throat, but a chilling sensation rolls down my spine when I look over Reiner’s shoulder.

“He-he…” Reiner hiccups. Connie’s head lays tilted in the crook of Reiner’s elbow, blood coats his mouth and chin and soaks into his shirt. The glow from the moon casts dim light over his pale features. His eyes stare unblinking at the starry sky. 

“Connie,” I mumble feeling hopelessness seep into my bones and hollow them out. What hope we had scrounged up with the false light of our imagination dissipates along with Connie’s life. What hope can we expect to have when each life we try to preserve is taken from our hands? 

“I was...” Reiner says through fat tears. The weak shells of my bones crack like toffee as Reiner sobs burn my core. Through all of this, this whole night, Reiner has fought to find a part of himself that will bring meaning to his life again. Reiner put the burden of this friend's life into his hands and told himself that he could be the one to save them. “I was going to save him.”

“Reiner, you couldn’t-”

A howling cry echoes through the woods, my voice catches in my throat as the temperature around us drops. 

“Was that-?”

“We have to go,” Reiner says, his voice cracks but he pushes through it leaving his weakness behind and running straight to the cabin where the earth shattering wail came from. My body refuses for a moment. My feet are planted on the cold, tainted ground and my legs are unwilling to sprint headfirst into another life threatening situation. 

But of course I can’t let Reiner go alone. 

I follow after my boyfriend as he lugs Connie’s body with him. It slows him down, that and the eternal exhaustion from his horrific night. I am able to pass him to pull open the back door of the cabin and let Reiner and Connie inside before me. 

I pray for nothing to be waiting for us on the other side of the door. We have no control on anything at this point. We just have to keep pressing random buttons until something lights up. 

I step into the cabin after Reiner and I want to run back out the other way. 

My eyes first land on Eren. He looks up at us through his dark eyebrows with his eyes full of wild energy and sparking violence. Beneath him is Armin who’s being pinned to the floor by a blood spattered Eren looking like captured prey in a wolf's clutches. Armin’s blonde hair is a tangled mess over his pained face glistening with sweat and tears. His blue eyes don’t bother to look at Reiner and I, he keeps his focus on the crumbled figure in the living room. 

My lungs deflate like they’ve been stabbed with a quick blade. The punctured holes in my side ooze the oxygen from inside of my chest because I don’t think I’ll need it anymore. 

The huddled figure on the floor is unmoving and bloody. Gray sweatshirt soaked in crimson. Bleach blonde hair flared across the dark hardwood floor. Annie. 

My jaw hangs open as I look up at the monster standing over my crippled friend. Mikasa holds her fists at her sides, blood coats her arms from her elbows down and covers the lower half of her face. She looks like a feral cannibal that’s just ravaged the insides of a human and eaten their guts raw. The look on her face does nothing to counter the villainous aura she owns. She looks over at Reiner and I with a dead expression. A shrill ache of fear closes my throat as I stare at her eyes that seem to be nothing but black. 

Armin and Annie are about to die. What if we showed up a fraction of a moment later? 

Reiner raises the shotgun before I can call out into the chaos to stop this madness. He lifts it with a cool, calm, and contained display of fearlessness. But it’s anything other than fearlessness that causes Reiner to raise the gun. He’s terrified out of his wits. No one was made to be able to handle a blood bath like this. 

I should stop him. The whole point of fighting through this terrifying night was to survive, all of us. If we wanted to accept death then we would have laid here like ignorant chickens. But we chose to fight, and ending it this way will only mean that we lost. 

But look at them. Jean was right. Eren is trying to hurt us and of course Mikasa is by his side. Eren hovers over his best friend like the protective wolf he is over their golden find of a dying deer. He wants to keep Armin for himself, to kill him or, worse, to do something else entirely. 

If Reiner and I intervene now, without the gun, then Mikasa will shred the skin from our bones before we lay a finger on Eren. Annie is as good as dead, if she isn’t already, if we tried to come at Mikasa first. 

Wait. Marco and Jean were supposed to come to the cabin. Did they make it? We didn’t see or hear them in the woods. They must be here. I stare at the blood that clothes Mikasa like a crown of gold and gems. Maybe she already killed them. Maybe Jean and Marco are already dead. 

I stare down the length of the double barrel shotgun. Reiner’s aim points at the killer queen herself. My eyes flick from Annie’s body on the floor to Mikasa’s black bloodlusted eyes. Somehow I don’t feel like telling Reiner to stop. 

I remember Historia’s beaten body like she was used for target practice. I think of Ymir’s stiff corpse and the loneliness and fear of what it would be like to die alone in a dark barn. I think of Sasha. Her and Connie’s terrified faces when their car roared loud in the empty woods surrounded by watching eyes. When Sasha stared down at her blood covered hands and realized what was happening to her. When Connie screamed in pain seeing someone he loved die so horribly. And then to watch Connie meet the same doomed fate and laugh amongst the horror. 

Maybe Eren and Mikasa don’t deserve to be killed, but it’s definitely fair. 

That’s when a desperate cry echoes from the second floor of the cabin. My eyes flick up to the shadows at the top of the stairs. I squint through the darkness and a rush of relief brings light to my mind. 

Marco comes stumbling down the stairs yelling. My eyebrows scrunch. 

I look back at Reiner. He hasn’t moved. He hasn’t taken a moment to consider the yelling from above. He hasn’t made any indication that he won’t shoot. 

“Don’t shoot!” Marco cries with his hands stretched in front of him. Jean follows after Marco, quite a distance behind him, lunging down the stairs and having only eyes for his boyfriend. 

A grunt of pain comes from the kitchen as Armin and Eren start struggling again. Mikasa continues to stare at Reiner like she’s daring him to pull the trigger. 

Jean chases after Marco with this horrible pained expression on his face. Does he-? 

Marco bolts it towards Annie, no, he’s going towards Mikasa. Marco is barreling headfirst right into the line of fire to save Mikasa from a bullet that’s well deserved. 

I freeze. My limbs are glued to my sides with thick slabs of heavy cement. My knees threaten to give in under the weight of impending doom. 

Reiner.

The gunshot casts grenades into my head. I cry out in pain and my body smacks back against the door behind me. I grab the sides of my head and feel like wet cotton is stuffed inside my skull where my brain should be. 

The world tilts at horrible angles. Either I’m falling or my eyes have popped out of my eye sockets. Sharp claws rake gashes along my brain, I feel like my ears are bleeding. 

Slouched against the door, I look up at Reiner. His broad back is taunt with tight muscles. The gun hangs toward the ground. I blink a few times trying to regain my senses. Something’s wrong. My chest rattles with the sprinting of my heart and the shaking of my body. My eyes flick back and forth as I try to figure out what the fuck is wrong. 

I feel my shoulders rising and falling with heaving breaths but I don’t hear them. I can’t hear my breathing. I can’t hear Armin and Eren fighting. I can’t hear Marco running or Jean shouting. I can’t hear anything. 

I reach up to Reiner’s shoulder and stand on wobbly legs that threaten to topple me over. I feel tears prick into my eyes as the confusion makes me more scared than anything. Oh god. If I can’t hear anything then they’re going to kill me for sure. I’m going to die because Eren is going to easily waltz up behind me and stab me in the back. 

The moment my eyes land on Jean is when I forget all of my pathetic fear. 

It feels like Jean is the only person in the room. My sore eyes watch him like a burning house. The unadulterated agony that floods from his body burns irreversible scars into my memory. I feel like I should look away, that a moment like this is miles beneath any worth to his needs. 

And Jean wasn’t even the one who was shot. 

The moment my eyes drift to Marco’s body, bile boils into my throat and I have to level myself to not throw up over Connie’s corpse. My eyes drift back to Jean but it doesn’t make me feel any better. 

Jean crawls slowly towards his boyfriend. His face wrenched in pure pain. He stops just before he reaches Marco, his hands dripping in fresh blood and his eyes wither with the same crimson color. His mouth hangs open for a moment before he leans forward as veins pop from the side of his neck.

He’s screaming. But I can’t hear him. I can’t hear what must be the same noise Connie made. But I see the truest form of horror being belted from his being. Tears fall from my eyes and I feel them carve warm lines down my cheeks. 

Jean’s body jerks as he vomits at Marco’s feet. He wraps his arms around himself to grab his biceps and slowly rock back and forth. After what seems like a lifetime of Jean’s mind visibly unravelling from itself, Jean looks up at Armin and Eren across the room, and then at Reiner over his shoulder. 

Looking at Jean feels like staring at a mirror and seeing Reiner’s reflection. The moment of eye contact they share carries a world of grief that I can’t begin to comprehend. It’s the same moment that I realize what just happened. 

Reiner shot Marco. 

Reiner, who has been struggling to bring himself validation through the act of saving his friends, has failed once again by killing one of the only people who was willing to get hurt if it meant saving someone. 

Reiner is going to blame himself for letting Ymir and Historia go to the Love Barn. He is going to blame himself for letting Connie and Sasha eat that popcorn. And now he’s the only one to blame for the chunk of Marco’s brain on the floor. 

If only we had paid more attention to Eren’s intentions. If only we’d believed Jean. If only we’d ran a little faster or moved a little earlier. If only things didn’t come to this. 

I notice Jean turn back to Marco, taking an empty look at his shoes, and then looking up at Mikasa who’s still standing there like a demon among mortals. The pain on Jean’s face cripples into destruction. Mikasa shifts her weight onto her back foot and awaits Jean’s move. She doesn’t seem to give Marco’s sacrifice a second glance.

It’s suicide to go up against Mikasa, especially as Annie’s body lays at her feet, but Jean surges towards her without fear. He’s lost the need to be safe. At this point, I don’t think he cares about what happens to him. 

He grabs Mikasa’s throat in his upward lunge, manages to clasp his hand around her neck and send the two of them stumbling back a couple of steps before Mikasa maneuvers Jean’s arm into a lock that has him back on his knees.

Just as I try to shift towards the impossible fight, Reiner turns to me. 

Oh god, no. 

It’s that look. That look of hollow soullessness that Jean had looked at him with. Reiner’s eyes barely see me. I’m not sure that he does. His gaze falls short of my eyes as he looks blankly past my face. 

His gaze then drops to Connie. 

I lift my trembling hand to his face and try to pull his attention towards me. 

Please look at me. Please look at me. Please look at me. 

-

“Look at me,” I giggled through my hand. I tried to pinch my lips together to keep the growing smile on my face from embarrassing Reiner. But he was just so damn cute. I held my phone up at the edge of my knee to try and hide the impending picture that was to be taken. I wanted this moment to be my new screensaver. “Pleeeease.” 

Reiner, who had his back to me, was laying on his stomach on the floor with his bare legs crossed at his ankles and his upper half propped up by his elbows. He turned his head slightly to reveal the small smirk on his face. 

In the late Saturday morning, clean light filtered through the open curtains and painted the backs of Reiner’s thighs in white sunshine. I stared at round cakes of Reiner’s ass that stretched his navy blue boxer briefs. The curve of his ass sloped into the bend of his back where his all too small t-shirt rode up on his hips. His spectacular figure then broadened up to his shoulders and arms. His shirt warped around the melons that are his biceps. 

Although I could’ve savored the view for the rest of my hangover cure coffee, I also needed this picture before Reiner ditched my gift into the box that he kept with a bunch of our knick-knacks and memories we’ve kept over the years. 

I pouted and sunk into the couch to extend my foot and poke him in the calf. “Hey Chunky Butt, pay attention to me.” 

Reiner snorted, shaking his head to himself. I squinted at his phone that was being held in front of his face. I smiled at the forehead selfies he sent to his Snap Streaks with the caption “I lived bitch.” 

I thought back to the events of last night’s party at Eren’s weird friend’s frat house. I enjoyed going to frat parties every once and awhile. It’s fun to see their faces when they realize that a bunch of gays have just entered the building. Reiner also liked to make a bunch of bets with the Chad’s and then destroy their asses in a multitude of strength challenges. This, of course, always led to the frat guys chasing us out of the place like a mob of Tommy Hilfiger clad drunkards. 

“So needy,” Reiner hummed to himself as he tossed his phone aside and rolled onto his side to strike a ridiculous pose. “This what you wanted?” he asks with an incredulous quirk of his eyebrow and a proud smirk at his lips. He planted a hand on his lip and stuck one of his legs straight into the air with his toes pointed. He puffed his chest out so that the stamped, “My Boyfriend Is Taller Than Your Boyfriend” letters stretched across his pecs. 

I shook my head. Of course Reiner wouldn’t be embarrassed. I should’ve known. I lifted my phone and snapped a picture of my boyfriend. His hair is growing out and sticks up in fluffy tufts on his head, his glasses hang low off his nose, and a fading hickey pokes out from the wide collar of the shirt. 

Reiner let me take the picture and then lowered his leg to look up at me proudly. “You’re mom would love that.” 

I scoffed, “Definitely not showing my mom this one.” I smiled down at the picture as it lit up behind the apps on my phone. “She still thinks you’re closted with homophobic parents and is saving yourself for marriage.” 

Reiner tilted his head and pushed up his glasses with the back of his finger. “Well, used to be true.” His eyes faded into deep thought before he blinked and smiled up at me. “She still loves me.” 

I hummed thinking of every phone call I have with my mother and how it always seemed to waltz onto the topic of how me and Reiner’s relationship was, how perhaps he could be the one? Hm, Berthold? 

I looked back up at Reiner on the floor who was back on his phone probably scrolling through Instagram looking for any regrettable pictures that may have made it to the public from last night. I noticed the Captain America Shield on the crotch patch of his underwear and pursed my lips. Yeah, I loved Reiner, and one day I was going to marry him, but not in the near future Mom, sorry. 

“You don’t have to wear that shirt, you know. I just got it for you because I thought it was funny,” I said while thumbing out a text to Ymir to check to see if her and Historia got home safely. 

“Nah, I’mma make it a crop top ‘n where it to work,” Reiner said like it wasn’t the stupidest idea ever. I winced to myself. I remembered looking at some girl from campus wearing the shirt next to her basketball boyfriend and I thought it was cute. But when I looked it up, there were only women’s cuts. So I went for the biggest size and hoped for the best. And here we are still with an all too small shirt for an all too large boy.

I looked at him over my phone with the pained wince on my face. “Seriously, babe? You don’t have to.” I sighed thinking of all of Reiner’s work friends, all big and buff and attractive, seeing Reiner wearing a crop top that was given to him by his boyfriend who doesn’t even know his size. “And why do you insist on making the gym a place I can never show my face?” I whined hoping I could talk him into not embarrassing himself. 

Reiner looked up at me and smiled. Not a nice smile, a “I think it’s funny when you try to tell me what to do,” smile. “What? I want them to know I have a bomb boifey.” 

I sighed with a subtle quirk of my lips. “Don’t call me boifey, it’s weird.” 

“It’s boyfriend and wifey mixed-”

“I know what it means, dear,” I said, giving him a look. “Just don’t tell them I gave it to you, alright?” 

Reiner squinted at me with a grin. “It literally says, ‘my boyfriend’ on it.”

I frowned. “Shut up.” 

He laughed to himself. “How ‘bout you come and visit me at work one of these days, meet some of the guys, let me fuck you in the locker rooms, and then I’ll stash the shirt away in the 2015 box?”

I shook my head. “How romantic.” 

Reiner laughed to himself and rolled onto his back holding this phone in the air above his face to continue scrolling through it. “The shirt shall stay, then, laddy.”

I ran my bottom lip through my teeth. “Or,” I started, slinking off the couch to straddle Reiner’s lap covering the unfortunate Captain America Shield. “I could take the shirt and I’ll let you fuck me now?” 

Reiner hummed setting his phone down as his hands naturally came to rest on my thighs. “Tempting,” he said. “But I keep the shirt on or no deal.” 

“Lord,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Fine, but you’re paying for lunch.”

Reiner’s eyes lit up behind the circular frames of his glasses. Although dark circles hang below his eyes, the clear blue color still radiated with affection. I smiled down at him, tracing my thumb over the ruff hairs that poke out along his jaw. He turned his face to kiss my palm. 

My chest permeated with golden flakes of love. I could stare at him like this all day long. He looked at me like I was his world. He made me feel like I belonged in his arms and that I was strong enough to carry him too. He made me want to be my best self, like I could make the world a better place just by having him by my side. 

Reiner laced his fingers into mine and let his eyes shift from absolute adoration into a glint of amusement. “Sounds like a deal.”

-

I remember Reiner looking at me like I was his world. I remember what it felt like when we were unstoppable, that nothing could get between us. We were in love, we are in love, but life gets harder the longer it carries on. And now with the burden of loss and failure trapping our hearts and straining the connection between our souls, I can feel Reiner drifting away from me. 

“Reiner?” I think I say. But the deafness in my ears disconnects me even farther from my love. I feel like I could reach out with the farest stretch my body could handle and I still wouldn't be able to hold him. 

He looks up at me, his eyes dragging from Connie’s body to my eyes like he’s pulling a piano into a window. The hollow pits of his eyes show no light, no reflection, no life. My gut coils in freezing tubes threatening to shatter into millions of pieces. 

My vision blurs around the distorting tears that leave my eyes. Reiner washes out of my sight as pain replaces him. I feel the peticularly and precisely placed threads that bond us being severed one by one. Each snap of a string sends a sharp pain to my chest like darts being thrown into the dark. 

I watch carefully at Reiner’s lip for any sign of movement, any word he might need me to hear, any thought he wants me to save him from. I’ll do it Reiner, I’ll save you. Always. I’m here for you. Just ask me and I’d give you the world. 

But Reiner says nothing. He says nothing as I feel pain bloom in my throat from what must be my screaming. He says nothing as I try to reach out to him, to hold him, to reassure him and tell him that I won’t leave him. He says nothing as he flips the shotgun in his grasp and pulls the trigger, sending his body ricotetting at horrifying angles onto the floor behind him. 

It’s an instant. A single moment from when Reiner pulls the suicidal trigger to when I’m standing alone looking down at his mutilated body. I don’t hear the second shot, but I flinch when the hot spatter of his head sprays over my skin and through my clothes. I stumble against the back cabin door, feeling the slick of blood dripping down the glass. 

Reiner’s body thumps to the ground as the gun scatters across the floor. I blink away the stinging in my eyes as I stare down at Reiner. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to feel. I don’t know what’s happening. 

My eyes blink slower and slower the image of Reiner’s crimson covered body burning every corner of my mind. But I don’t feel anything. Nothing at all. I don’t feel the paralyzing fear of being hunted through the dark woods. I don’t feel the looming terror of Eren and Mikasa’s presence. I don’t feel the all consuming dread from seeing Connie and Marco die. I don’t feel the crippling loss of Reiner’s death. 

There’s nothing. All those nights spent with the love of my life. All the trying times and healing words. All those road trips and early morning runs. All those soft touches and kind smiles. All those beautiful moments that I never expect I’d have the honor of witnessing. They dissipate in the blackhole of my mind. 

My body limps against the door. I don’t know how I’m still standing. My knees tremble under the weight of sagging shoulders. My limbs feel the same numbness as my head. I feel nothing but the drying blood on my face. 

The first time I tear my eyes from Reiner is to catch the violent shift of movement in my peripheral vision. I squint up at a presence emerging from the darkness. My broken senses make everything seem like they’re in a twisted dimension that makes everything ten times heavier. The air is thick with sweat and tears and pain. I feel like each of my movements are being restrained by invisible ropes and I can’t see more than a few feet in front of me as my vision tunnels in murky fog. 

I blink at the figure and recognize green eyes that shine like dripping saliva from a hungry wolf’s fangs. Next, I notice the metallic glint of a blade slicing through the air. 

A sharp pain bursts from my throat. I choke on a gurgled cry but the vibrations of my vocal cord only worsen the pain. I scramble to lift a shaking hand to my neck feeling the river of warm, viscous liquid spill over my fingers. 

My knees give out as my vision blurs into swirling taffy. I slide down the slick door and rest my loose head on the glass. 

I pull my hand away from my throat to see my warped fingers colored in grainy red. I almost laugh, of course this is happening. 

The sight of my fingers is jerked upward and the pain my throat shocks me so bad that I nearly pass out. Although, that’ll be happening soon enough, won’t it? 

My eyes land on a face. Green eyes, twisted smile, and black heart. Eren. 

He tilts his head at me with his hand fisted in my hair. He forces me to look at him as I die by his hands. He wants to see the fear of the unknown leave my soul writhing and squirming in my body. He wants to hear me beg for my life clinging to his shirt and leaving my blood on his collar. He wants me to leave this world knowing that he killed me, that he was the one destined to be at the end of the road, that he’s the God in control of my life. 

But I won’t give him the pleasure. 

I use whatever strength I have left in me to stare back at Eren just as he looks at me. I show him that I’m not scared of him, I’m not scared of the unknown, I’m not scared of dying. He took my friends from me. He took Reiner from me. He took my life from me. But I won’t let him take my dignity. 

I think of my mom. What she’ll think when she finds out what happened to me. What she’ll feel, what she’ll be forced to live with for the rest of her life. I’m sorry, Mom, I should’ve been stronger, but at least I won’t disappoint you in this moment. 

I glare at Eren and smile. 

My lips stretch like ancient plastic, brittle and forced, crumbling the harder I try. Blood seeps through my teeth, down my chin, and into the gorey mess on my throat. But I continue to smile, despite the pain, despite the horror, despite Eren.

You lost Eren. You won’t get what you want. You will fail. Our friends will end you for what you’ve done. Just you wait. 

Eren’s face fades into the enveloping darkness, but I continue to smile. With the remaining fragments of my vision left, I look towards my feet where Reiner’s body lays untouched. 

Don’t worry, baby, I’m following you.


	17. Shattered (Armin POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TRIGGER WARNING: References to SELF-HARM are mentioned in this chapter. If you are sensitive to this subject, please read with caution.  
> Written by: thesketchytepe**

1:17 AM 

In a heartbeat, four people died.

Armin saw Marco fly into the kitchen just as something exploded nearby. It blurred his vision and his ears rang loudly and the next thing he saw was Marco’s body lying in a pool of blood, his face smashed into a pulp. An eyeball bulged out of its socket and his limbs twitched once, twice before becoming still.

Another explosion reverberated through the room and Reiner’s large body slumped into Armin’s line of sight. His face was also crumbled into red chunks and he thought he saw a few white teeth scatter on the kitchen floor. He eventually spotted the shotgun skid across the tiles and bump against the wall.

Armin looked up at Eren who was staring intensely at the back door, lips pulled back like a lion’s when another predator dares to ruin his meal. He then whipped his head to his knife that was tucked in the corner of the room and scrambled up to get it. Even though he no longer felt the weight of Eren’s knees on his stomach, he still felt them lodged in there. Fear, anger, sorrow, dread, guilt weighed down on him and boiled him alive, melting his bones and burning away his sense of self. He wanted to just lie there and cry, let out all the trapped sentiments that nibbled at his brain like a parasite. Instead he pushed them down even further and rushed after Eren.

Fire flared up his calf and hand as he pushed himself off the floor, slicked with the blood of half a dozen friends, and shoved Eren’s hunched back into the wall, grabbing his hair in fistfuls. Eren was in worse shape than Armin—he’d been stabbed three times now—but he was running on pure adrenaline and determination. Armin should’ve known that he wouldn’t take a beating so easily.

Eren groaned in annoyance as if his alarm went off in the morning for him to go to school or work. He reached back and squeezed Armin’s hand, the one with the broken pinkie finger. Armin gasped in pain and his grasp on him loosened. Eren took the opportunity and pushed Armin into the wall with the back of his elbow. He then threw in a punch or two for good measure.

As Armin slid down the wall, Eren turned around and dashed to where Reiner’s body laid. Berthold was there (Armin hadn’t noticed him before); shock prevented him from moving or seeing Eren coming. Eren grabbed Berthold’s collar, brought him to eye-level, and, all while maintaining eye contact, slashed the knife across the throat.

Blood spurted from his neck like a water sprinkler as Berthold reached for his throat, gurgling and gasping for air. He collapsed; more blood burst into the air as he looked down at his hands in horror. Eren took hold of his disheveled head of hair and stared into his expression, watching, waiting.

More tears fell from his damp eyes as Armin stared at the killer. He was looking for that light in Berthold’s eyes. He wanted to see his life drained from him like the blood escaping him now. He wanted him to cry out, scream, wither beneath him, do something to establish his dominance over him. Eren, his best friend, his brother, was a literal sadistic monster who enjoyed the sight of death taking over the mind of his friends.

But Berthold didn’t do anything; his body shuddered and more wet, strained noises squirted from his severed vocal chords. His body ultimately went still and Eren, dissatisfied with Berthold’s death, threw him to the side and ran out the door and into the dark once again.

Armin spotted the faint smile on Berthold’s lips, his dead eyes forever locked on Reiner’s corpse.

He felt light; everything moved in slow motion. He rolled his head to the side and found Jean—poor, broken Jean—screaming in pure rage, tears running down his cheeks and clogging his throat. Mikasa had him in a lock beneath her. Armin’s heart broke again at the sight of her, his sister. He always thought she was beautiful, her black hair, midnight eyes, snow white skin, delicate doll-like features. But all that blood and sweat brought out the emptiness in her eyes and stained her seemingly innocent appearance. He never realized that, all this time, she was the haunted doll with a cracked skull that sat in the corner of the bedroom, simply waiting to unleash the demon that possessed her.

Those black eyes turned toward the doorway and gazed after Eren. A concerned look passed over them, bringing some sort of life back into the hopeless abyss. Jean took his chance and squirmed in her grasp, eventually grabbing her thigh and thrusting it forward. She stumbled a little, but that’s all he needed. He broke away from her grip and then plummeted her to the ground. He planted a knee on her ribs and a foot on her wrist and began raining his fists upon her, screaming something that Armin couldn’t quite make out. Mikasa made no sound as Jean’s bony knuckles repeatedly pounded against her nose, head, neck, chest, and anywhere else he managed to hit.

Armin’s gaze swam through the bloodbath before him. His eyes drifted past Marco, Berthold, Connie, and Reiner’s lifeless bodies, past the ocean of blood, past the puddles of glass until they landed on her again. His insides shriveled up like an autumn leaf at the sight of her bloodied sweatshirt and those bottle remnants jutting from her face. She had not moved from her spot on the floor.

A fresh wave of loss overcame his senses, and he picked himself back up and stumbled her way. He rounded Jean and Mikasa, not bothering to give them a second look. He slipped on the blood that separated him from her, the wall of useless sacrifices. His head landed on Marco’s leg and now his entire right side was drenched in the boy’s blood. He tried not to let the thought settle as he got back up and crawled the few remaining steps to Annie.

Her tousled hair shielded most of her face and, when he carefully tilted her head back up, he found that the blood that welled around those three glass pieces had trickled down her face. It curved along her sharp nose, coated her closed eyelids, and slipped into the gap of her thick lips.

“No, no, no,” he whimpered under his breath again and again as he shifted Annie’s cold body around in his arms. He pushed her sweatshirt up and examined the brutal mark Mikasa left behind near her tailbone. It was deep and long, gushing blood that was so dark and thick it was as if the night itself was bleeding from her. He felt the wetness of her shoulder blade and pulled back his hand to find it soaked in red.

He looked at her, limp in his arms. He did this to her. He told her to stay by his side for the night and now look at her, drenched in her own blood. She would’ve been just fine if she went out with Reiner and Berthold—just like what Reiner suggested—and maybe then her two best friends would still be alive and so would Marco—he wouldn’t have to jump in front of anybody if Annie went out into the woods. He wanted to protect her but ended up killing her instead.

Sobs shook his body, his tears splashing against her nose and cheeks, making the blood run faster. His vision blurred like a bloody watercolor painting and he couldn’t see anything clearly. But he wanted to see her pretty face, the face of the Greek goddess of war who others longed to look like, a face of strength and courage and kindness. His trembling fingers brushed back her tangled locks, but the glass and his own tears made it hard to see her again, buried underneath layers of horror.

I’ll take out the pieces, he thought to himself, and then push one of them into my eye. That should keep me from crying so fucking much. And then I can   
see her again.

He nodded to himself as if it made perfect sense and then pinched a piece stuck in her cheek. Once he plucked it out, a memory streamed out along with the red river. The shiny glass reminded him of her shiny black fingernails as he watched her scroll through her phone, searching for another song to play. They’d sit under a large oak tree on Trost University’s campus, Armin doing his homework, Annie playing on her phone while occasionally glaring at students passing by. The earbud tucked in his ear would usually play something by the Cranberries or Nirvana and Armin would comment with a playful smile that her taste in music was so depressing. Annie would glower at him, but she still kissed his cheek and muttered into his skin, “I will beat the shit out of you.” He grinned and replied, “I know.”

He took out another slice and its sharp edge recalled the time he discovered her strange love for prickly plants. When he went over to her apartment for the first time, he found many pots of little cacti placed randomly around the place. Some were flat and round, some had arms sprouting from them, and others were adorned with pink or purple flowers. He also found a single dying rose in a vase by the TV with tiny thorns running up and down the stem. He met up with Annie in the kitchen; she cracked open a small box with the word “bloodworm” plastered to the side in curvy letters. He hovered over her as she dangled a floppy pink worm over the gaping mouth of a Venus fly trap that sat on the windowsill. He jokingly asked her if the plant had a name, but she answered in her usual monotone voice, “Harold.”

The last glass piece he removed from her lip sent another wave of blood into her mouth. The red color matched that red Sylvia Plath book Annie picked up at that bookstore they visited some time ago. They were sadly going out of business and had set out dozens of boxes full of books out on the sidewalk, all marked at extremely low prices. Armin had scavenged through a few boxes and had chosen a couple of thick history books. He looked around for Annie (who had been lingering by his side for a while) and finally noticed her crouched by a nearby alleyway. He walked over and saw a sleepy tabby cat laying on a flattened cardboard box, enjoying the chin scratches Annie was giving it. She held the poetry book over her shoulder without looking at him once he asked if she was ready to check out. For a moment, he honestly couldn’t believe he had to compete for Annie’s attention with a cat, but after thinking about it, he decided he would surprise her with a furry friend for her birthday in a few months after seeing the cute smile on her face.

Why these memories? How come he didn’t see the important events in her life like her entrance into the police academy or her moving with him into their current apartment? Why was it the little things? Were the anniversaries and celebrations and losses not significant? What did Jean see when Marco died? Did Reiner’s life flash before Berthold’s eyes? What did Connie feel as Sasha slipped from his arms?

Please give me an answer, he begged of himself as his trembling arms tightened around Annie’s form. He rocked back and forth on his heels, some dying animal noise bubbling in the back of his throat.

The memorials of Annie were too painful as they continued to filter behind his eyes like a broken projector. The time they got drunk in the middle of the afternoon and danced a very clumsy ballroom dance in the living room, her giggles pressed into the crook of his neck. The time he first told her he was in love with her and she began to cry—she managed through soft hiccups that she thought no one could ever truly love her and his heart broke in two. That cute snort she had whenever she laughed too hard. That distinct yet funny scowl she had whenever Reiner was about to do something stupid. Her amazing ability to fall asleep anywhere at any time, despite loud thunderstorms or the previous three naps she took in a row. Those out-of-the-blue passionate kisses she’d smother him with, leaving him fumbling with his book until it’d eventually fall out of his hands.

Those moments burned like acid in the back of his mind, for he knew he would never be able to recreate them with her again. Look what you’ve done to her. Look what you’ve done! All she wanted was to go home and you can’t even do that, you pathetic coward! All this blood is on your hands. You killed them!

You killed her, you killed her, you killed her, you killed—

Something weakly pushed against Armin’s chest.

He peered down and he could’ve fainted at the sight. Annie’s bloody face peeked back up at him, her tiny hands clawing at his collar.

“Oh my God,” he wheezed, new tears spilling. “Annie, oh my God.”

He nearly squeezed the life out of her with the tightest embrace he could manage, despite his shaky arms and broken finger. He firmly pressed his lips onto the side of her head, coating his lips with her blood and the leftover beer—it was warm and sticky and left a sour yet sweet aftertaste. He heard himself mutter panicked phrases as if he were running out of time like “I’m so sorry” and “you’re alive” and “I love you so much”.

“My legs,” she croaked into his neck.

He suddenly remembered the horrible gash sliced across her tailbone. He let her go and hurriedly shrugged out of his hoodie (now a dark forest green instead of its usual emerald color). He tied it around Annie’s waist and knotted the sleeves together.

“I can’t feel my legs,” she mumbled under her breath. Her eyes were the size of tea saucers and her bottom lip quivered. Armin noticed the nasty scar left behind from the glass on her upper lip—it was about the size of a quarter.

“I can’t feel them,” she panicked. “I can’t feel my legs.”

With that much force, Mikasa probably severed something in her spinal cord. He swallowed another cry for her. She can’t move; this is going to kill her.

He pulled her back into his arms once he saw the frightened tears dampening her eyes through her hair and blood. “It’s okay,” he tried soothing her (though he knew it wouldn’t help when his own voice was as steady as an earthquake). “I’ve got you. Everything’s okay.”

But that was the wrong move to make. She now saw the absolute chaos that laid behind him over his shoulder.

He felt her body stiffen and heard her stifle a cry. “Bert? Reiner?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Everything’s okay. It’s okay, Annie.”

“Reiner…” She wept his name. “He fucking killed himself, didn’t he?”

“It’s oka—”

She pounded her fists against his shoulders which felt like getting hit with bowling balls. “Stop telling me it’s okay! Stop lying to me!”

The agony in her screams only reminded him of what a failure he turned out to be. He wanted to protect her from it all, but he only brought the danger to a higher level. This wasn’t Eren’s doing—it was his. It was all his fault.

Nevertheless, he held onto her tighter. “Annie, I’m so sorry.”

She hesitated before whispering Marco’s name.

Marco reminded Armin of Jean. With his arms still locked on Annie, he shifted around so that he saw Jean’s back and Mikasa’s feet on the other side of the kitchen. He was still pounding away at her; blood dripped from his knuckles and was spattered along the cabinets and walls. Mikasa’s hands—stained with Annie’s blood—pushed feebly at his knees, and she was quickly losing strength. Along with Jean’s livid cries, Armin heard wet and bone-crushing noises echo from his fists, from Mikasa’s face.

He paused. I shouldn’t stop him, he contemplated. He just lost Marco, Mikasa took away Annie’s legs and aided Eren through all of this. It would only be fair. Because of her choices, because of her blind-sidedness, she has to endure Jean’s wrath.

But the longer he stared, doing nothing, the heavier the guilt weighed down in his chest. He watched Mikasa’s hands drop to the floor and Jean hammer away. If he didn’t stop him, he would certainly kill her. Despite the poor judgement calls Mikasa was known for, Armin couldn’t just let her die. He couldn’t let Jean murder that little girl stuck in an adult’s body; she didn’t know the difference between right and wrong, she didn’t know what was good for herself and had to suffer because of her willing ignorance. Perhaps there was still a chance for her to change.

“Jean,” he sighed, “stop.”

Of course he didn’t hear him.

He licked his lips, tasting Annie’s blood again. “Jean, stop.”

No acknowledgement from Jean.

“Jean! Stop it!”

An angry moaning sound erupted from him as his fists continued to fly.

Armin looked around and found Annie’s hunting knife lying by Marco’s feet. Mikasa must’ve dropped it when Jean tackled her. He frowned at the idea forming in his mind, but it was the only one he had.

He swiped away the tiny glass pieces littering the floor and then slowly leaned Annie against the counter. She grimaced at the pain and he grabbed her hand and kissed it.

“Hold on a little bit longer, honey,” he murmured before making his way to Jean.

His fingers wrapped around the tainted knife. It was sticky with blood; he was surprised he hadn’t fainted or puked at the bloodshed they all sat in, considering he did just that when he saw Historia (her death seemed mild compared to what he just saw). His shaky legs hurried to Jean and he reached out for his forearm, pulled back to throw another hit at the bloody mess that was Mikasa’s face.

“Jean, I said stop!”

Armin yanked back his arm, forcing Jean to swivel around and throw a deadly glare in his direction. His face was drenched in tears and spatters of blood (both Marco and Mikasa’s) were sprinkled along his chin, neck, and collared shirt. His lips were pulled back in a wolf’s snarl and his nostrils flared. His small eyes were wide with fury, just as wild as Eren’s.

“Fuck off, Armin!” he spat.

“Jean, stop it. That’s enough.”

“I said fuck you.” 

He flashed the knife at him. “You’re done, Jean. Stop it or you leave me no choice.”

Jean eyed the knife and then looked back at him. The corners of his lips curled as if he were holding back laugh. He leaned forward and whispered, “You don’t even have the guts, you pathetic, worthless little worm.”

It was as if Armin just stabbed himself. He knew Jean was already angry with him for knowing Eren’s intentions all along, but to have him voice his beliefs about himself made them real, true. It reminded him that none of this would’ve happened if he just spoke up in the first place. Jean was correct—he was pathetic and worthless.

But he still slashed the knife along Jean’s forearm as if he were cutting butter.

Jean gasped and jerked his arm back, clutching it as red seeped through his already soiled fingers. He seemed more shocked than he did hurt. “What the—”

“You think Marco would let you kill Mikasa?”

Armin lowered so that his face was a few inches from Jean’s. He watched his eyes water at the mention of Marco’s name and stared into space as he hung onto Armin’s every word.

“What are you—”

“Marco died saving Mikasa’s life and here you are, trying to kill her. Do you think he’d be proud of you?” Armin spoke through his teeth and his gaze was intensely focused on Jean’s reaction. He felt his lips crack and his eyes burn. “You’re letting him die in vain, you know. His death, his sacrifice, will mean nothing if you kill her. He died for peace and you’re ruining what he stood for. There’d be nothing to gain by murdering Mikasa. Marco’s lying right there, watching you and judging you. What a disappointment you’d be in his eyes—”

“Armin.”

He turned toward Annie’s groggy voice. She was lying on her stomach by Reiner’s body with his shotgun in her hands, aimed straight at him.

Her hands trembled as she growled, “Stop it. Jean just lost Marco and you’re only hurting him more. Don’t be so cold-blooded.”

Armin’s lips rested into a sad smile and his shoulders sagged forward. “Honeybee, that’s a double-barrel shotgun. Two bullets were used on Marco and Reiner and that was all it had. And besides, I know you would never hurt me. You’re too kind.”

Behind her blood-stained eyes, he saw fear, true and bone-trembling fear. Her split lips pulled back and he saw her red teeth, shivering as if she were catching a cold from his icy soul. Her hands shook so hard that she was having a difficult time keeping the gun steady.

The pain in his heart was the sharpest he felt so far this night. She was looking at him as if he were some hungry bear or aggravated shark coming to eat her up. She never looked at him with those eyes before and he didn’t like the feeling that came with it.

He reached his arms out to her and took a step forward. “Annie, honey, what’s—”

“Drop the knife, Armin.” She snapped the gun back at him, even though she knew it was empty.

He turned the knife around so that his fingers were holding the blade. He offered the handle to her, but she only flicked her gaze at it before locking back onto him. He then set it on the ground and lightly pushed it her way; it bumped against her elbow but she still didn’t budge.

“Annie, you know I would never hurt you. I can take care of you—”

“Don’t you dare take another step towards me.”

His lips tried twisting into the smile he knew she liked. He shuffled forward some more. “Annie, I—”

“Stop moving, Armin!” she screeched like a crow. Tears curved around her sharp cheekbones, turning her dark blood into a light rouge color. “Come any closer and I’ll-I’ll rip out your tongue so you can stop creating so much damage!”

His vision became blurry again. “Annie, please—”

“Stop talking, goddamn you!” 

Armin crushed his lips together. His teeth sank into his skin and, if he tried hard enough, maybe he could bite off his own lips, if that’s what Annie wanted. He didn’t need them anymore, right? Besides, he needed to stop crying anyways. 

He glanced over his shoulder. Jean was looking at Marco’s body, his raggedy hair shielding his expression. He did see, however, a few more tears trailing down his cheeks and dripping from his chin. His head lifted back up to Armin and he was obviously still fuming, but he also looked very confused and very betrayed. There was a touch of fear in his eyes, too, the same kind that Annie was drowning in.

Murderer, coward, liar, pathetic, worthless—

“You’re both out of your minds,” Annie muttered to the ground, exhaustion finally taking its toll on her, “so I have to play mother until this night is over.” 

She huffed and ran a hand down her face. Blood, tears, and beer smeared down her features, making the cuts in her face and the heavy panic clearer to see.

“We have to get out of here. Eren’s gone, so who knows when he’ll be coming back.”

“I am not leaving this cabin until that fucker is dead.” Jean growled like a rabid dog, his face scrunched up in concentrated fury. “I’ll rip his limbs off.”

“Leave that to the professionals. Help is on its way and if anyone is going to screw things over, it’d be you.”

“He killed Marco—!”

“He’s killed everyone, Jean!” Annie bit back. “Stop thinking about yourself for one goddamn second!” She sniffed. “Of all the people who had to survive this, it had to be us.”

Silence fell over the room while Annie pondered on what to do. Armin decided to let her do the thinking from now on. His plan failed miserably—he’s killed over a half a dozen people tonight.

Maybe there’s a way I can take out my brain. It’s useless anyway.

Just as Armin began to subconsciously pull out his hair again, a familiar smell wafted up his nostrils. Summer barbeques, late-night campfires, cooking a warm dinner. His eyes glanced in the direction the smell was coming from. It was impossible to see the rolling smoke in the darkness, but he somehow knew it was there; the smell was so strong.

“He’s burning the house down,” Armin murmured into the silence.

No longer than two seconds passed before Annie dropped the shotgun and switched it for her hunting knife. “Alright, we’re getting out of here. Jean, carry me on your back and Armin, you take Mikasa.”

Armin looked at her. “What should be done with Eren? Maybe he’s still in the cabin.”

She eyed him with a look so sharp and so poisonous that it made Jean’s threatening eyes weak and childish.

“I thought I told you to stop talking,” she hissed in a tone that matched her narrowed glare.

His hands lifted toward her and she flinched away. He swallowed, dropped them, but tried again, this time in a fragile whisper. “Annie, please. You’re all I have left.”

Her jaw twitched and she gestured to him with her knife. “This isn’t Armin Arlert, this isn’t the guy I trust more than I trust myself. This is a stranger and I don’t like him.” She sharpened her stare. “I’m not letting him anywhere near me until he brings back Armin.”

He felt the all-too-familiar feeling of cold tears slipping from his wide, hazy eyes. She hates me. She wants me dead. I’ve killed her, only to bring her back to life and make her life miserable. Maybe death would be better for her, then she wouldn’t have to be crippled or see me like this. I’ve broken her in every way possible. Oh God, what have I done?

He said not a word nor choked out a sob as he and Jean switched places; he lumbered over to Mikasa and Jean begrudgingly leaned down, so Annie could crawl onto his spine. As he slowly picked up the pieces of Mikasa, her weight leaning fully on his back, he could vaguely hear Jean and Annie arguing somewhere beyond his inner torment.

“Why do you have a gun in your back pocket? Where did you get that?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Give it to me.”

“No, fuck you. You have your knife.”

“Jean, you’re a child. Give it to me if you want to go back home.”

“Who ever said I wanted to go home? I have no home now.”

Armin peered up at them. Jean had stomped his way to the front door in the living room with a small handgun in his grasp. Annie clutched at his neck and tried reaching for the gun with her other hand, her legs swinging helplessly from side to side. Jean threw open the door and plunged into the darkness outside.

Armin tugged on Mikasa’s arms and slowly dragged them both after the unlikely duo. He could feel her tiny chin tucked into his neck, wet yet warm. He unknowingly walked into a circle of smoke and the lack of oxygen made his throat burn. He coughed it up and he could hear the licking of flames coming from somewhere upstairs.

“You should’ve just let Eren kill me,” he muttered to Mikasa’s limp hands. “You don’t need me to be happy, no one does. Eren’s not good for you either, but you don’t care. If you guys had succeeded and killed all of us, then you would follow Eren, wherever he’d drag you next. Maybe home, maybe hell. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you either, Mikasa.”

Her boots knocked against the doorframe as he stepped out of the cabin, slower than a slug. He took the three rickety steps across the wooden porch and then sunk his feet into the mud. His calf was killing him and his finger flapped uselessly, swollen to the size of a grape, but, of course, it couldn’t compare to the anguish his mind was drowning in.

He looked up and saw Jean and Annie waiting impatiently a few yards ahead. Jean had lowered the gun to his side and had his other hand wrapped around Annie’s fist which was fastened onto the collar of his shirt, digging into his Adam’s apple. Annie had her other hand gripped onto a tree branch as if she told Jean to stop and wait for Armin and, when he refused, she stuck out her limb and caught one of the many arms of a pine tree, bringing them to a sudden halt.

Armin slowly made his way over to them but stopped when he heard the sound of rapid footfalls from somewhere deep in the woods. Jean and Annie heard them too; they all snapped to the source of the noise.

Peering into the blackness, Armin could dimly make out the recognizable figure of Eren dashing between the pine trees.

“You son of a bitch!” Jean screamed. He lifted the handgun.

“Jean!” Annie fumbled for the gun again but her arms were much too short for Jean’s long, slender ones.

He shot and the sound wasn’t as ear-deafening as the shotgun. Instead it echoed into the trees like a drop of water in a cave.

Eren ducked but kept on running.

Armin peered ahead and found a little square garage; that must’ve been where Eren was going. But what was in there? What did he plan to do? Get in a car and drive away or pick up a chainsaw or axe or some other obscene weapon and finish what he started?

“Jean, quit it!” Annie yelled into his ear. “You’re fucking things up!”

She pulled out her knife and went to drive it into his shoulder blade—just like what she did with Eren—but Jean had thought ahead of time. He reached back, grabbed the end of her hoodie, and hauled it forward, flipping Annie over his back and slamming her onto the floor below.

Annie landed with a gasp and Armin shrieked her name once again. Her hands clutched at her hips, unable to lift herself or roll over. Her lower half was still and futile while her upper half wriggled around to grab at Jean’s functional legs. He took off, however, firing more bullets at Eren’s shadowy figure.

Armin hurried toward Annie, Mikasa flopping around on his back like a rag doll without all its stuffing. When he caught up to her, he noticed just how white her skin looked compared to the black mud and dark leaves scattered around her. Blood filled up her face again through the slices in her cheek and lip; she was losing so much so quickly that Armin wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be able to keep it up.

“Annie, are you…”

She sunk her fingers into the cold mud and flipped herself onto her stomach, letting out a low groan as she did so. He looked at his hoodie wrapped around her waist. He could see dark spots blooming through it already.

He inhaled sharply. “Annie, your—”

“Put Mikasa on my back,” she muttered into the ground—he had to lower down to hear her correctly.

“What? Why?”

“Just do it, Armin!”

Her voice, dripping with increasing anger, scared him into doing what she said. He carefully laid Mikasa down on her spine, making sure that no part of her was lying on her tailbone. Annie then hooked Mikasa’s arms around her neck and, taking the knife with her, began crawling for the hills.

“Go get Jean,” she groaned. “Stop him from killing Eren. We need those idiots alive.”

His stomach dropped. “Annie, you’re losing blood. You need to—”

She flashed an animalistic stare over her shoulder and through Mikasa’s hair. Blue veins popped in her temples; the blood continued to rush out, but she looked as intimidating as ever. She clumsily tossed the knife at him which landed at his feet.

“Go get him or I swear it’s over, Armin!”

She didn’t wait for him to protest anymore; she probably saw the fallen look on his face. She was already slithering toward the cars and back the way they came from.

As Jean’s fiery screams and the endless rounds of bullets filled the air, Armin picked up the dirty knife and eyed Annie and Mikasa once again, slowly inching away. He looked down at the weapon in his hands.

Maybe it would be better if she was dead.

He didn’t linger on the possibility for long—Jean’s cursing reminded him of what had to be done. He whipped around and ran after him, limping along the way.

“Jean!” Armin spotted him several yards ahead and Eren even further away. He saw the light of the gun as Jean continued blasting away, missing every time. Eren darted around between the trees as if he were trapped in a ping-pong machine. He didn’t scream back at Jean, but instead kept his focus on the awaiting garage.

Suddenly something exploded behind Armin. It was ten times louder than the gun and he could feel a splash of heat on his back. He snapped back and saw a giant dragon made of flames erupt from the top story of the Jaeger cabin. Glass and wood rained from above and black smoke blended into the night sky. The bright orange creature disappeared but more flames licked and lapped at the shattered window that once belonged to Eren’s bedroom.

Armin tried to find Annie and Mikasa among the madness but couldn’t see her. Everyone’s dead cars blocked his chance of catching her. He pushed the worry as far back as it could go and pumped his legs a little faster.

Jean didn’t seem too interested in the burning building behind them and persisted at his personal goal of killing Eren. He shot again; Eren dodged the bullet by hiding behind a tree. He stepped back out and Jean fired again.

Amazingly, he hit him.

Eren’s right leg gave in; it swung dramatically to the side and he fell flat on his back. He howled into the sky as he clutched at his kneecap.

Jean ran up to him and aimed the gun at his huddled form. Armin hollered out, “Jean, don’t! Stop!”

Jean peered up at him and then lifted the weapon at him. His eyes fell on the hunting knife in his hand. He gritted his teeth together.

Armin cradled it between his thumb and the palm of his hand. “Jean, I don’t want to hurt you—”

“It’s too late, Armin.” His voice was eerily calm. He targeted Eren again. “He deserves this.”

Eren didn’t seem like he was listening to their argument. His eyes were squeezed shut and his hands were clasped around his knee, dark blood soaking his jeans.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he growled under his breath.

“Jean, we need Eren alive, right?” Armin tried to coax. “We-we need to take him to court where he’ll—”

“No,” he said with his eyes glued to Eren’s writhing form. “He deserves to die just like Zeke does.” 

“I-I know you’re upset and you have every right to be, but—”

“Upset? I’m-I’m—” Jean stuttered a few times before bawling out, “He killed Marco, Armin. He killed Sasha and Connie and Berthold. You don’t know anything, and I’m going to end what you’re too coward to do.”

Coward, coward, coward.

“Yeah, you wanna talk about cowardness?”

Jean and Armin turned to Eren on the ground. He had slowly sat up into a sitting position though his hand was still wrapped around his knee. Those crazy eyes peered up at Armin and he bared his teeth like a hyena.

“Armin has always just let people walk all over him his entire life,” he mocked. “He just sat there and let school bullies beat on him like the fucking doormat he is. He doesn’t know how to defend himself, doesn’t know what sacrifice is, and can’t even throw a punch at his teddy bear. Not willing to fight is the most cowardly thing I’ve ever heard of. Look at him, look at him trembling like a leaf!”

He shook his arms dramatically and his face drooped in fake fear. He snorted and then pulled back into his natural glare. “Armin is the embodiment of cowardness. It disgusts me.”

Jean wacked the butt of the gun against the side of Eren’s head. He fell over and landed on his knee. Something cracked and he screamed into the ground.  
“Ow, shit, Horse Face! What the fuck?”

“Fucking shut the hell up!” Jean countered. “Shut your goddamn mouth, you little piece of shit!”

He let out a chuckle and flashed his eyes at him. “A little piece of shit? Not even a big piece?”

“I said shut up!” He pulled his foot back and rammed it into Eren’s face.

Eren’s head snapped to the side and he cursed again. He moaned and rolled back.

“He’s right, you know.”

Jean didn’t bother to look at Armin; he kept his gaze locked onto Eren’s bruised face. Eren made an effort to face Armin, shifting around as if he were about to witness a miracle.

Armin’s eyes wandered around them as the words pounded in his skull with the strength of a mad gorilla. Coward, murderer, liar, worthless, pathetic, weak. The fear wasn’t shredding his insides apart like it had the moment he stepped into the cabin that night. Instead he felt nothing. He cried out the fear and bled out the darkness, but something told him it wasn’t enough. He hadn’t shed enough of his own blood to make up for what he did.

He shrugged, motioning to it all—the cars with slashed tires, the smoking cabin, the broken man that was Jean, his girlfriend and best friend crawling through the mud somewhere in the dark. “This is all me. I knew Eren was responsible and would do something tonight, but I didn’t stop him. I was too coward to admit it. I didn’t want to think that he was capable of doing something so terrible, but he’s human, right? And humans are capable of genocide, rape, murder, manipulation. I’m human too, so that means I am just as guilty as Eren.”

He looked at the knife in his hand. He brought it up to his eye, staring at the dirt and blood lines as if it were engraved into it. His other hand ran through his hair. “I killed my own friends,” he croaked. “They’re still in there, burning, rotting. I lied to myself and to you guys. I went along with Eren’s story that there was someone else out here. I sent them to their own deaths. I didn’t even tell Levi what I saw at Eren’s house. Me, I did it—I stabbed Historia, I poisoned Sasha, I pulled the trigger for Reiner, I pushed Marco in front of Mikasa. I…did it all.”

He felt like crying again, but couldn’t bring himself to. The wind scratched at his face and cooled the damp tears staining his cheeks. He was just so tired--his chest and throat were sore and his mouth ached. Those terrible truths--coward, worthless, pathetic--hurt him more, however. So much more. 

I have to take my eyes out. I have to take my brain out. I have to take my lips off. 

He fell to his knees, dropping the knife in his lap, staring at the tiny reflection of himself, covered in blood and grime. What a disappointment, what a waste of good oxygen.

“Stupid, stupid,” he muttered to himself as his hands scratched at his face. His broken pinkie finger throbbed and ached, but that’s what he needed, right? Pain to match what his friends felt before they died.

He stuck his finger in his mouth and bit down hard. Fire erupted in his hand and he concentrated on the pain. He tugged at his hair, dug his fingernails into the stab wound in his leg, knocked his fists against the bruises left behind from Eren’s punches. “Coward, murderer, pathetic,” he droned on like a robot. 

He peeked through his fingers once Eren began laughing. It wasn’t loud and obnoxious, but low and it seeped through his teeth. The smile was wide and his eyes even wider. He breathed in and whispered into the dark, “I’m happy to keep you, you little weed. I’m glad to see your eyes are finally opened.” He let out another chuckle. “Was it worth knowing me?”

“I said shut up,” Jean muttered before he placed the gun against his forehead and pulled the trigger.

The sound ripped through Armin and bounced against the trees. He watched Eren’s body fall and a small stream of blood flow down his temple. Everything was now underwater, moving slowly, sounds were muffled, his vision was hazy.

Jean stepped back and looked at Eren, expressionless. The gun was loose in his grip, but he still held onto it. Armin stared at Eren. He waited for the memories to crash onto him like how it did with Annie. He waited for Eren to snap back up like a rubber-band and laugh in his face. He waited to wake up, find Annie sleeping soundly beside him, and realize this all was a bad dream. But none of those things happened. He didn’t feel the loss or the betrayal or the hurt anymore. He didn’t feel anything when Eren died.

And then, in a heartbeat, red and blue flashing lights came barreling down the hill, accompanied by loud, screeching sirens.


	18. Epilogue: If Only (Jean POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TRIGGER WARNING: Reference to SELF-HARM and SUICIDE are mentioned in this chapter. If you are sensitive to these topics, please read with caution. 
> 
> We also would like to thank each and every one of you who've been with us through this crazy adventure. We hope you enjoyed our fic and *winks* we'll see you in the next one! Thank you!! 
> 
> Written by: blueTshirts**

4:52 AM 

My eyes have gotten used to the gothic darkness of the night, but they water at the sharp chill in the air. My feet slap against the ground as I continue to run through uneven terrain. Pulsing aches shoot up through my calves with each lunging step, a similar growing ache echoes in my chest as I huff foggy breaths of the October air. 

My chest stammers with rhythmic yet frantic heartbeats. I feel my hands shake and my throat choke around thick saliva. I blink the water from my eyes. I wipe harshly at them with the back of my hand and continue to run. 

The frantic feeling in my chest starts knocking at my lungs and making my rib cage rattle. My breaths sound more like gasps rather than the contained, even breathing that I’ve been working so hard on perfecting. I squeeze my hands into fists, hoping to maintain control. I’m not going to let myself fuck this up again. 

I curse to myself as I shadows start dancing in front of my vision. I wiz past dying trees and fallen leaves. I keep my eye on the break line of the woods. I squint as I see faces poke out from behind trees and footsteps pounding next to me. I try to shake the ghosts from my eyes and focus on the burning pain in my muscles rather than the burning pain in my head. 

Just make it to the end, I tell myself, just make it to the end. 

I jolt when I hear a gunshot. I lose my footing and nearly face plant into a tree. But I catch myself and use the tree to push me into continuing down the trail. There’s no gunshot, I tell myself. But then there’s a scream. The scream has me digging my heels into the mud and whipping my head around. I look through the trees with tears burning my eyes. It’s just because of the cold. 

I listen to the silence of the woods. No one is there. Everything’s fine.

The scream wails through my head again. I squeeze my eyes shut and tense my shoulders against my ears. The bone chilling cry sends a wave of tremors through my body. The blankness behind my eyelids flash with blood. 

“Fuck you,” I hiss under my breath as I turn back towards the end of the woods and begin running again like I never stopped. I sigh the anxiety out of my lungs and pretend that I don’t hear my name being called after me as I exit the woods. 

Through the break line of the trees, I bolt up the hill feeling my thighs curse at me as I take each step at full power. I grit my teeth until I’ve made it over the hill, only then do I finally stop, flopping into the grass and rolling onto my back. 

I breathe until it doesn’t hurt so bad, staring up at the fading stars as the night turns to morning. The sun won’t come up for a few more hours. I hate the moon. I hate the dark. I hate the stars and I hate that night only gets longer towards the end of the year. It’s easier to pretend everything is fine when it’s light outside. But I can’t control the sun or the moon, so I have to try and stop hating the glowing rock in the sky so much.

“Fuck you, moon,” I curse between breaths as I glare at the sliver in between dark clouds. I push myself up on my elbows and glare down at the woods at the bottom of the hill. “Fuck you too, woods.” 

With that, I stand and start jogging back towards the road. The streets are empty, the shops are dark, the traffic light blinks red and yellow at unoccupied intersections. I run under the streetlights that shine down onto the crumbling sidewalk. I avoid the cracks as I pass them, hopping from one tile to the next. 

I run along the sidewalk until I turn down a less retail prone street that’s lined with a stone wall that reaches up to my chest. I glance over the wall into the cemetery. I sigh the same sigh that I always do at this turn. 

I slow down to a lazy walk as I approach the gates of the cemetery. I pull a key from my sweatpant pocket and unlock the steel gate. Don’t ask how I got the key. 

I stumble among the headstones, most of them are flat plates that sit flush with the ground, other’s are little squared stones that have one-liners engraved into them, other’s are pretty impressive near-monuments that look more like they’re bragging about their money rather than representing the person buried beneath it. 

The cemetery is dark, as always, there are no lamps back here but it’s not like I need the light to know where I’m going. I trail my fingers over the smooth edge of strangers’ headstones as I pass them to get to the one person’s I came for. Down the right side of the cemetery behind a few trees, I stop at the stone plaque in the ground. 

I sigh, once again, the same sigh, he must be getting tired of it. I plop my tired butt on the ground in front of him, crossing my legs under me and my hands going to lay flat on the grass.

“Hey, babe,” I sigh. Stiff grass pokes up between my fingers, I imagine it’s his hands holding mine back. “I almost didn’t stop today,” I say half-proudly, “But, you know, shit happens.” 

My eyes linger on the name engraved in stone in front of me, then the year, then back to the name. “Bodt,” I say to myself, letting it roll off my tongue like it used to. I don’t get to say it very much anymore. Only when I’m alone really. “Bodt,” I say again. 

I prop my chin in my hand as I lean forward on my knee. “Officer Bodt sounds way better than Officer Kirstein. Kirstein is weird, it’ll confused people, they’ll call me Kirsten, lame.” 

I smile to myself. “Maybe I still can take your name?” I scrunch my face at myself. “No that’s weird, and Erwin would find out that I’m totally lying to him.” 

I scratch softly at the mud under my pointer finger. “Worth it though.”

I look at the date on the dark stone. The plaque itself still looks brand new but the end date has aged by two years. Two years. It’s been two years since I’ve seen you smile, two years since I’ve held your hand, two years since I’ve counted your freckles or kissed your forehead. But I’ve told you I love you every day since then. I haven’t missed a day, Marco. 

I swallow the rock in my throat and brush the wetness from my eye. It’s just cold outside. 

“Erwin is getting on my nerves again,” I say continuing on my life update with Marco. “But, you know, when isn’t he?” 

I hear Marco in the back of my mind shaking his head as he smiles softly. He glances up at me with an upward angle to his eyebrows. “Maybe you should stop lying to him, he’s not an idiot you know,” he would say. 

I roll my eyes, looking up at the tree a few feet away. I see him sitting there with his back against the bark, his ankles crossed, and his hands in his lap. “Yeah, yeah, well he’s an overprotective parent that thinks I’m an idiot child that lashes out just to make him suffer.” 

“He’s probably just concerned because of last year, you can’t really blame him,” Marco says lecturing me just like everyone else does. But when Marco says it, he means it. He doesn’t see me as the basket case that the rest of the world sees me as. He doesn’t see me as a project kid. He doesn’t see me as a pity charity. He doesn’t see me as the kid that lost his life. 

He sees me as me, like he always has, like no one else will ever be able to. 

I think back to almost an exact year ago. October once again, I hate October, and I was on the Jaeger estate, in the woods, alone, laying in the dirt until Levi found me a day later dehydrated and suicidal. 

I purse my lips. “I’m fine, I’m not doing that shit again, I promise.” I look up at Marco’s eyes, but he’s farther from me that I’d like him to be and I can’t see his eyes in the light that I want to. So I close my own and imagine the beach. 

I stop. I shouldn’t imagine the beach. At least Erwin tells me not to. But it’s hard for me to let go of the memories that maintain Marco’s immaculate image in my head. I won’t forget him. I won’t let myself forget the details of his eyes, his skin, his voice, his hands, his smile. But Erwin wants me to stop thinking about it so much, he says I’m limiting myself from progress. I say he’s full of shit. 

“But we are going to the estate, tomorrow,” I say with a shaky sigh. I’m honestly not too excited about it. That place is the literal setting of my nightmares. The nightmares that have me sleeping only about four hours a night. The nightmares that have me screaming and sweating and calling 911 on accident. It’s not like I can call Marco and cry to him and tell him how scared I am. I can’t call Sasha or Connie either. Nor Reiner, Berthold, Ymir, Historia, Mikasa, or Armin. I glance up at the image of Marco sitting across from me and he’s looking at me as he worries his bottom lip with his teeth. “I’m going with Annie, don’t worry.” 

“Is she okay?” Marco asks like he always does. 

I sigh. I sigh a lot now-a-days. I think of Annie back at the apartment right now. She’s probably awake if not by a miracle that she somehow is still sleeping. Neither of us sleep very much. She’s probably sitting silently staring out at the sky in her wheelchair ignoring the dog that refuses to leave her side even though I take care of the asshole animal. 

“Uh, she’s alright, I think she’s finally starting to come around on the police academy thing. She’s been working with Hanji too, which I think is good for her. But I think she kind of hates Hanji, not really, but you know, Hanji can get really pumped about serial killers sometimes and we don’t really think the same way.” 

I entered the police academy 14 months after the massacre. I got my certificate in July, about three months ago, and I’ve been working with Levi while I work on my criminal justice degree. It’s been a lot of fucking work, but the distraction is nice, and I know that Marco would be proud of me. 

“Seen Armin lately?” Marco asks with a hint of a grimace on his face. He always asks about Annie and he always asks about Armin. He never asks about Mikasa. It’s not because he hates her, he just knows that Mikasa’s life is rarely going to change for a while. 

I think of Armin. It hurts. So I stop. 

“I’m seeing him today,” I say softly. I’m not excited to see Armin either. But I should go. Marco would want me to make sure he’s okay. Even though it seems like his mental state deteriorates more and more every time I visit him. “And Annie will probably make me go alone again because she’s a bitch.” 

Marco does the smiling while he shakes his head thing again, and it makes my chest ache. Though, anything Marco does makes my chest ache. 

“She’s not a bitch, Jean-”

“Fuckin’ lie smart ass-”

“She’s in pain, okay? Plus it might hurt Armin even more to see her.” 

I look at the ground where my hand is still flat in the grass. I was 100% against Marco having a burial when it came time to decide those things. But no one listened to me. Marco’s family wanted a burial because whatever family tradition. Marco’s body isn’t even in the ground. Only a casket full of some of his favorite things, letters from the people that love him, some of his clothes, and a box of whatever ashes they were able to scramble up from the bones left in the fire. I don’t know how they even know that the bones they cremated were Marco’s, they could be anyone from Marco to Berthold to Connie to Reiner for all they know. It pisses me off. 

I press my fingertips into the earth and remember when I clawed my hands through heavy dirt to exhume Marco from his near death in the Jaeger woods. Little did I know that he’d only die hours later, and that time I wouldn’t be able to save him. And still, his family buried him in a grave that he probably wouldn’t have wanted. 

“I’m in pain too,” I mumble to the ground. Too many times over the past years has it felt unfair. Yes, it’s been unfair to everyone who had to survive the massacre and it was unfair to those who died in the massacre. I should’ve died or Marco should’ve lived. Annie should still be able to walk and Armin shouldn’t have gone crazy. Everyone else should be in their homes sleeping soundly without a care in the world. But no, everything has to be for the worse, everyone is fucking dead, and nothing will ever be the same anymore. 

But out of all of this, I was the one with the least of the battle scars. My brain is intact, my spine is intact, and my life is intact. So that forced me to be the strong one. I was the one to force Annie out of bed and make her eat, I was the one that stayed with Armin for days when he wouldn’t stop pulling his hair out, I was the one that had to talk to everyone’s families, I was the one that had to do fucking interviews for the news and stand in front of a court of strangers and tell them in great detail about the worst day of my life. Now look at me, I wake up everyday at four in the morning because I can’t sleep over the nightmares and I talk to my dead boyfriend until the sun comes up. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” Marco says with his soft voice. I sigh. He says that a lot. I hate it. We don’t get to have any fun conversations anymore. Marco’s not really there. Marco isn’t actually talking to me. My brain is creating a mirage of my love to supply the support I need to make it through the day. Marco only says the things that I think he would say. It’s real enough for the most part. But I will never truly be able to talk to him and his brain again. I will never hear him jab me with a surprising one-liner, or give me a quick witted joke, or give me poetic sentiment. Marco’s brain was exploded by a bullet he took for a murderer. 

“Me too,” I say. “I miss you.” 

I look up at the imaginary Marco and feel my insides burn. I want to hold him, I want to kiss him, I want to run my thumb over his cheek, I want to feel his heartbeat, I want to hear him breathe. But he never moves from the tree. He always sits there looking at me with sad eyes, saying he’s sorry that he died. 

“I love you, Marco,” I tell him like always. 

His smile is soft and sad. He gave me one of those smiles during one of the last moments I spent with him. He gave me that smile while he was confessing to me that he was going to do what he thought was right even if that meant getting himself hurt. I hate that smile. 

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” I tell him like always. I watch his chest exhale and inhale. I frown. My brain has gotten really good at making Marco look real. Sometimes it’s worse to see Marco, just because it reminds me that he’s not here anymore. 

“Tell everyone I said hi,” I say as I lift my hand from the ground to kiss my fingertips and then place them back on the ground. I give Marco one last look. God, Marco, I miss you so much, you really were the best of us. 

I stand on shaky legs, sniffing and wiping my eyes again. It’s cold. 

I smile at the ghost of Marco. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” I tell him like always, and then turn to leave the cemetery. 

I walk back to the apartment, my head hung low and my thoughts lower. I wish Marco was walking next to me. I wish I was holding his hand and making idiotic comments about how cold it is. I wish I could kiss him on the cheek when he said that he thinks everything is lovely. 

I let myself swim in the grief, the loss, the pain. I let myself feel so horrible for the whole walk home, because by the time I open the front door, I have to put my strong face on and start pretending again. 

I come up on Annie and I’s apartment building and sigh. None of the lights are on. Even though I know Annie’s awake, she still won’t turn on the lights. I let my brain think of how I hate the fact that I live with Annie, that I should be living with Marco, that I should be sleeping at this time in the morning, that I shouldn’t be working out this much as a way to deal with grief, that I shouldn’t have to do any of this. 

I get to our door on the first floor, unlock it and step inside. I peer into the darkness. I sigh and lean back against the wooden door, letting my head knock against the oak and closing my eyes. I listen in the silent air for Marco’s humming, for clanging pots and pans, for the plucking of his ukelele, for his mumbling voice as he repeats funny words he hears as he watches a tv show. 

But it’s silent. Dead silent. 

I open my eyes. My heart stutters like it does off and on through the day. I’ve gotten pretty familiar with my triggers. But they’re triggers for a reason, and I can’t control how I feel about it no matter how familiar I get with them. 

I stumble into the apartment. It’s a pretty large spaced area to give Annie and her wheelchair plenty of room to move about, not like she does that very much. I walk past the kitchen to trip towards her bedroom. 

My panic brain is telling me she’s dead. My brain thinks Annie somehow bit the dust by exhaustion, starvation, a seizure, her slitting her wrists open, or Mikasa breaking out of prison to strangle her herself. My mind gets more and more creative the more it worries. 

I bust open Annie’s bedroom door not bothering to knock, and my eyes search frantically for any sign of life. Usually this is the part when Annie looks up at me in her usual scowl and intimidates me into leaving her room. 

But she’s not here. Her blankets are crumpled haphazardly over her bed, the window by her messy desk is left unoccupied by her somber handicapped body, and her wheelchair is missing. 

My throat closes up as sweat collects along my forehead. 

“Annie!” I call through the apartment, my voice noticeably fragile. I’ve had enough loss to last a lifetime, I’m not going to let anyone else leave my side. Even Annie. 

My breath hitches as tears spring into my eyes. A voice starts laughing in my head. But it’s not my voice. It’s not Marco’s voice. It’s no one that I would want to hear or be weirdly comforted by. It’s Eren. It’s always Eren’s voice when I start thinking horrible things. 

Look at what you’ve done, Eren’s voice says with psychotic amusement. You can’t even take care of someone who’s stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of their life. You’ve failed once again. You’ll never be able to save anyone. Just like you couldn’t save Marco. You think you can become a detective one day and save people from what you had to go through? Seriously? You’re a selfish fuck up, maybe you should just kill yourself.

“Annie?” I call again, my voice cracking and my vision tunneling. I stumble to the bathroom, using the wall to keep me steady as I walk among the apartment. The bathroom is empty, a minor wave of relief eases my shoulders to find that she’s not in the tub drowning in her blood. 

Blood. 

I feel my body heat up and go limp like it does when you’re about to throw up. I see blood. Crimson covered walls and puddled hardwood floor. I see my swollen busted knuckles covered with the fluid, and beyond my hands is Mikasa face beaten beyond recognition. I see Annie’s soaked clothing when they found her passed out on the gravel driveway and pulled her into the ambulance. I see Eren’s head adorned with a small, red bullet hole, but the rest of him intact. I see Marco, of course, I always see Marco. 

I hold off on having a panic attack and claw back through the apartment. The only other room that isn’t in view is my bedroom. Still feeling like I’m going to burst at the seams with tears, vomit, and blood, I rip my bedroom door open and see a familiar shadow by the window. I shake my head, getting Marco’s face out of my mind. Then notice the occupied wheelchair next to the drawers holding my clothes. 

In my continued panic, I stumble towards Annie, hoping that she’s not dead in the wheelchair, and yank the armrest to spin her towards me. 

Annie sits there, her eye fixed on something in her lap, and unmoving and uncaring to my dramatic response to her little hiding place. 

I don’t care to treat her with tender love and care that the both of our past partners would have treated us with, and grab her chin roughly to lift her cold eyes to mine. Her empty eyes meet me and I blow an exhausted whine. 

“The fuck’s wrong with you? Didn’t you hear me?” I curse at her. 

She says nothing as she rips my hand from her face. I let her and then collapse onto the ground by her wheelchair. I lean against my bed that I spend little time in and scrub my hands down my face. I focus on my breathing and try to center myself around the horrible images and hateful words in my head. This is a common occurrence. Just another day in the life of trauma patients. 

“I fucking hate you, you know,” I say into my hands. I look up at her scowling when she doesn’t give me an answer. “Would it kill you to be nice to me when I’m-”

“Being dramatic?” Annie mutters to herself. 

I blow a frustrated sigh through my nose. Do not punch someone in a wheelchair. Do not punch someone in a wheelchair.

I mumble something about having her sent to a nursing home under my breath and then squint at what she’s holding in her lap. “What the fuck are you even doing in my room, you whack job?” 

It’s really not that big of a deal. Privacy is not a big thing for us. Especially when Annie was in the hospital for so long after the massacre learning how her new body would work. I was the only one there for her in that time. Armin was occupied with losing his mind and the rest of our friends were dead, so you know. Although I was there with Annie for so long (in her hospital room alone because she refused to let me help her in physical therapy) she was also there for me in her own way. She didn’t judge me when the panic attacks wouldn’t stop, or when I started cutting again, or when I refused to eat for three months. She let me cry when I needed to and she let me argue with her about how depressed we both were, how angry at the world we both were. Or are, that is. 

Annie’s a bitch but she’s all I have at this point. I know Annie hates me too, but I think she’s under the same understanding. 

Annie doesn’t speak. She just stares at the item in her lap. I squint at the object. It’s a book bound in a faded red hardcover and read so many times that it would be falling apart at this point if Annie didn’t treat it like glass. A Sylvia Plath book that Armin got her a long time ago, before the shit happened, that is. 

I sigh to myself, knowing what it means. There’s a reason the book is in my room and not Annie’s. There’s a drawer in my room dedicated to things of Armins, things that were given to Annie by Armin, things that remind Annie of how much pain she feels every morning she wakes up and she’s not next to the blonde kid. I rub my eyes thinking of the same drawer in Annie’s room that’s full of Marco’s stuff. 

There’s a reasonable amount of things to keep from your dead lover. Both Annie and I seem to know no limits to that idea. For some reason, the two of us like to torture ourselves by reliving the good times over and over until we’re on the floor choking on sobs. This happened enough times that we came up with this system. If we kept our sorry things in the other’s room, it would be more difficult to wallow over the things, but still we have our weak moments. And with the year anniversary of the worst day of our lives coming tomorrow, it’s understandable that the two of us are getting sentimental. 

I don’t mention the book. 

We sit in silence until the stinky dog pads up to me on the floor and starts sticking his wet nose into my salty skin. I lightly shove the dog's nose away, and then he goes to sit by Annie’s side like he’s proving to me that he likes her better than me. Stupid dog. I can hear Connie now laughing his ass off about how much his dog hates me. Sasha would have insisted that Maximus, their dog, still very much likes me, but she’d be lying. I still would’ve liked to hear them say those things though. 

“You should sleep,” I mutter after I feel my body start to sag with exhaustion. It’s almost like a constant state I’m in. Feeling like I’m about to fall asleep at any moment and yet my body is still involved with being in survival mode to do rest. 

“You too,” Annie replies. Neither of us move. Neither of us will sleep. But we continue to tell each other what to do and act like that’s what it means to take care of someone. “How’s Marco?” 

I look up at her, surprised. Annie rarely asks about Marco. She knows that I see him. She knows that I’m not pretending when I tell her that Marco follows me around. That he’s always in my bedroom, he’s always in the classroom at the police academy or the university, he’s always at the cemetery. He’s just watching over me. He’s only protecting me. 

I glance at the hand glowing in the soft light of the moon that filters through my bedroom blinds. His pale arm rests on the other side of the bed, like a reminder, just resting, watching. 

I close my eyes. Annie only asks about Marco when she’s really in her emotional state. She’ll only support my hallucinations when she thinks they’re as comforting as I think they are. She’s only asking now because her brain won’t stop replaying the events that happened two years ago.

She seems to forget that Armin is still alive, and all she has to do is take a car ride with me to see him. 

“He’s fine,” I say. “He asked about you.” 

Annie meets my eyes with a pitiful sadness that tells me she regrets everything. She looks at me like she’s beating herself over the head in the back of her mind. She stares at me like the update on Marco won’t make her feel like drowning. 

“He’s says I should be nicer to you, but I told him you were a bitch and that you’re just as mean to me and I am to you,” I say lightly like this is completely normal, like I merely ran into Marco on my run and struck up a conversation like good ol’ neighbors. 

Fuck. I want to die. If only.

Annie looks back down at her book, her thin fingers trace the binding, she treats the thing like it’ll turn to dust if anyone breathes too hard. I once tried reading the book. But when Annie saw me with it sprawled out on the couch with my face twisted in confused disgust at how fucking depressing the thing is, she punched me so hard that I had to drive myself to the E.R. to get my nose aligned. 

“You know Armin asks about you too,” I say trying to catch her cold eyes again. I never paid much attention to Annie before I was forced to. I wonder if her eyes used to be as cold as they are now. 

Annie sits silent for a moment and then snaps her line of sight up to the door and starts wheeling herself out of my room. 

“Annie,” I say leaning over to grab her wheel. “Don’t do this, he’s not fucking dead, you know.” 

Annie, in her cold, cold presence, turns her head slowly to look down at me in complete constraint. “Yes, he is.”

“Annie-”

“No.”

“Ann-ah, fuck,” I hiss when Annie clamps her hand round my wrist and twists it off of her wheelchair sending a sharp pain up my forearm. She continues to wheel away as I cradle my hand glaring at her as he goes. “He still fucking loves you, you asshole, he’s still breathing.” 

“He’s still breathing but he’s not alive,” Annie says with her cop voice, strong and impenetrable. If only we could actually feel that way. “He died just like the rest of us, so don’t act like I can just show up to that sick house and life will be back to normal.” 

“It’s still worth a mother fucking try, you idiot!” I call after her, climbing up onto my bed as she continues out my door and across the apartment to her bedroom with her book in her lap. “How can you let him suffer alone like that! He thinks he ruined your life, he hates himself because he thinks he killed Marco, he thinks he killed everyone!” 

Annie continues to run away from the conversation like she always does. Usually, I drop it, but I’m feeling like I need to vent so I stomp after her. I close the distance between us in half the time it took her to get to the middle of the living room that’s the halfway point between our bedrooms. I turn in front of her and block her way into her room. 

“You are letting him lose his mind in there, Annie. You weren’t there. You weren’t fucking there when I slept in the same room with him every night to hear him screaming his fucking lungs out and ripping his hair out of his head. You weren’t there when he tried biting his own finger off. You weren’t there when he crawled on top of me in the middle of the night and started strangling me without even knowing-”

“How can you blame me for that? How do you even think that the mere sight of me is going to help heal him, huh?” Annie glares back at me. Her tone is more level than mine, but I don’t care. 

“You’re not fucking broken, Annie, seriously, you think your life ended when you lost your legs but you’re acting like a little bitch. You’re still alive, aren’t you? Why don’t you fucking suck it up and appreciate that you’re not fucking dead-”

“I’d rather be dead then be treated like a pathetic weakling-”

“Oh, oh, don’t even pull the ‘I’d rather be dead’ shit, we both want to be dead you’re not fucking special-”

“You’re a-”

“And you’re not a pathetic weakling, you only acting like one-JESUS CHRIST-”

I collapse onto the ground as a ricocheting burst of pain erupts from my groin. I hold my balls that feel like they’re having a seizure after Annie straight up upper cut them and wheeled away. I groan into the floor as stars buzz in front of my eyes. Can’t say I didn’t deserve it, but she’s still a fucking bitch. 

I whine into the ground until the waves of pain start to recede. I let my eyes linger on the open door to my bedroom. Marco’s there, he’s always there. He sits on the floor at the end of my bed with his legs drawn up to his chest and his chin resting on his knees. He smiles softly, looking at me like I totally deserved a punch in the balls. 

“Shut up,” I mutter as my eyelids slip closed and I fall asleep while my body is too exhausted to function. Letting the image of Marco linger in my mind and hoping that when I wake up, it’ll be to his sleeping face on the pillow next to me. 

I wake up maybe minutes or hours later to a familiar solemn sound. I open my eyes to the blackness and hear hiccuping sobs through the dark. A pain clutches in my chest. The painful sound echoes through the apartment and through my head. Annie’s cries are the worst, because she only cries when she needs to and she’ll never cry in front of anyone. 

I wonder if she ever cried in front of Armin.

*

I wake up again to a crushing pain in my foot and a dying scream. I bolt straight up with Marco’s name ghosting at my lips, looking around the room. 

I groan. The scream wasn’t real, but the pain in my foot was. 

Annie wheels past me, purposely running over my foot as she makes her way to the kitchen to make coffee. I glance over my shoulder at the soft morning light coming through the curtains. 

I glance at my phone. It’s a little after seven in the morning. I raise my eyebrows, impressed. I slept for almost two hours. I glance at Annie stretching to reach the coffee filters from the cabinet above her. I know she didn’t get any sleep. 

I pull myself onto my feet from my oddly convenient sleeping place on the floor and shuffle over to Annie struggling. I take the stack of coffee filters and set them on the counter for her to take. She would never have asked for help. She still refuses to get one of those extended grabby things that will help her reach things like coffee filters. She also refuses to let me reorganize the shit in the cabinets so that everything is accessible to her. 

Sometimes I think she just likes to suffer. 

That would explain why she has yet to see Armin in two years. 

Annie wordlessly takes the coffee filters and starts a pot of coffee for the two of us. I go to the bathroom to take a shower and scrub off the stiff, dried sweat off my body and rinse away the panic from a few hours ago. 

I stand under the cool spray of the roomy shower. A shower meant for people like Annie so they can climb in and out without any help. When we were both finally released from the hospital and allowed to live on our own, Levi and his wife Petra had gone way too far into creating a livable life for us. That included getting every single handicap helper out there. I don’t even want to think about the money they spent on us. I don’t mind all the odd things in the apartment, but I kind of hate the shower. It’s far too big. I can’t help my mind drifting towards the thought of Marco joining me in the large shower on sleepy mornings. 

I think of my day. Plan my day. Focus on the day. I envision myself getting dressed, grabbing coffee, driving Annie to work, driving to classes, stopping by the police department to talk to Levi - possibly pick up Annie while I’m there although I know it’s a far stretch, - go to the inpatient facility, talk to Armin, talk to Erwin, maybe see Marco again, pick up flowers, pick up dinner, go back home, walk the dog, go to bed. 

I do this routine everyday. Almost. I at least have to think about my day over and over again. It’s a trick Erwin taught me. It’s stupid. It’s called mindfulness or some stupid shit. It’s supposed to keep me focused on the present time rather than dwelling on the past. I’d like to tell Erwin to fuck off and that he has no idea what he’s talking about in losing somone or living with PTSD, but then I look at his arm, or lack thereof, and Marco’s voice in my head tells me to shut up. 

Once my mind drifts to Marco again, I sigh, and get out of the shower. 

I get dressed for the day, cursing when I find that another one of my shirts doesn’t fit me anymore. This is what I get for working out to get into the police academy. It’s stupid expensive to have to keep buying bigger clothes, it’s annoying. Plus, it would be so simple just to go into my stash of all of Marco’s clothes and take one of his shirts. They would fit me, and they would smell like him, and they’ll make me feel at home again. 

I sigh, and they’ll send me back to square one. 

I put on a sweatshirt that’s big enough and grumble out into the kitchen to find Annie secluded back into her room. Figures. 

I make myself a cup of coffee. I don’t use sugar or cream anymore. I drink the shit straight because everytime I go for the cream I think of all the little stupid comments I used to make at Marco at how his coffee was practically caffeinated chocolate milk, and then about how he got me hooked on to it with a smug smile, and then about how we were able to make each other’s coffee every morning without question. 

I lean forward on the counter with my hands gripping the edge resting my forehead on the cabinet in front of me. My brain seems to be on memory hyperdrive today. I can’t get Marco’s face out of my head. Not even for a moment to pour my coffee into a damned travel mug. It must be because of the anniversary. At least I can say I’m better than I was last year. 

Annie emerges from her room dressed in a simple black shirt and jeans for work. She doesn’t wear the stupid hoodie anymore. She looks up at me, then continues grabbing her stuff to leave. She doesn’t bother asking me what’s wrong. I huff a sigh because I want her to and I want to complain. 

“You coming to see Armin today?” I ask knowing the answer. 

“No,” she says like always. 

“Alright,” I mumble with my head still pressed on the cabinet. I think about all the shitty things going on in my head and debate venting to Annie. I decide that I don’t care what she thinks and start complaining anyway. “I miss Marco,” I say to the wood, hoping Annie provides some sort of affirmation. 

She doesn’t.

I groan and turn around, crossing my arms and watching Annie as she stuffs her laptop into her wheelchair bag. “He would hug me right about now,” I say with a wrinkled look on my face. 

Annie glances up at me, dismisses me, and continues to act like she’s not listening. 

“I don’t want to live here anymore, you depress me,” I say just to try and get a reaction out of her. I start thinking of the fights we had in the hospital. Apparently, one of my coping mechanisms is starting arguments to release my anger. Who knew. Well, Marco did. But he rarely rose his voice the way I did. He’d let me yell and punch things and cuss into my hands until I was blue in the face, and by the time I was exhausted he would hug me and everything would be fine. 

Annie doesn’t give a shit and will punch me to shut me up and return to her life as programmed. 

“Then leave,” Annie says like it’s a matter of a fact. 

I click my tongue. Bitch. She knows I won’t leave. Things would definitely be worse if I was alone. 

“Why don’t you start being nice to me?” 

“Why don’t you stop being a child?” 

I snort, “Speak for yourself.” 

A child. That’s me. That’s what I’ve become. Levi, Erwin, Hanji, Petra, even Armin have all said otherwise. They think I’m becoming a good man, that I’m destined to turn my life around for the better. It doesn’t feel like it. 

My eyes flick to the figure leaning in the doorway of my bedroom. A whine crumples in the back of my throat. My chest sags with sand. I scrunch my eyebrows together to try and hold back more stupid tears. 

Why did the universe do this to us, Marco? Why was this the timeline we were destined for? Did we ever have a chance of making it? What could I have done to prevent this? Was there anything I could’ve done back in the woods? Could I have knocked the gun out of Reiner’s hand before he shot you? Could I have knocked the popcorn over to prevent Connie and Sasha from eating it? Could I have ran down the stairs before you dove into the fight? Could I have talked to Eren before he let Ymir and Historia into the woods? Could I have stopped any of this?

I gasp, realizing that I stopped breathing. My head spins as my chest heaves. My knees wobble until they give out and I collapse onto the kitchen floor. I can still see my bedroom door from my place on the ground. I watch the figure, Marco, staring at me with a worried little expression on his face as I fall apart for the third time this week. It’s Tuesday. 

“M-Marco,” I wheeze feeling tears carve wet streaks down my face. I fail to contain my breathing or my cries as I stare at him, reaching for him, hoping childishly that Marco will walk to me and hold my hand. He doesn’t move. “I’m so sorry,” I sob. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

I choke and struggle for oxygen. My lungs malfunction under the misfiring neurons in my brain. My throat burns and ears ring. My vision swirls around Marco in one of my shirts, unmoving, with his sad brown eyes looking at me in the way I hate. Please don’t be sad, baby, please don’t be sad. 

I don’t notice the moving figure in front of me or the slamming of something. But then my dreadful vision of Marco is slapped into frigid darkness. I feel my upper body bounce off the ground and a sharp pain thump against the back of my skull. 

My breath returns to me in full bursts making me feel like I’ve just been lifted from deep water after being on the brink of drowning. I lay on the floor with my eyes covered in ice as my fucked up brain crawls back to me in shameful regret. 

I lay on the floor with my eyes covered until the frozen ice of the towel melts along my forehead. As the cool water drips into my hair, I lift my hand with a begrudging sigh to find stiff fingers holding the towel to my eyes. 

“Leave it,” I hear Annie say when I try to take her hand from the cloth. 

I let out a shaky sigh and rest my hand back on the floor. I wait until Annie lifts the towel from my face and I’m staring up at her with a miserable look on my face. 

She looks at me with those cold eyes and without a hint of emotion. Her face is forever fucked up from the fight she had with Mikasa. She’s scarred to hell and it pulls odd angles of skin around her eyes and mouth. One of her eyes even has a permanent droop that they’ll never be able to fix. In the hospital, I started to call her ‘hobgoblin’ for no other reason than the selfish need to use humor as a coping mechanism. I don’t say it anymore. I’ve been punched too many times to make that mistake again. 

Her cold, scary gaze stares at me like I’m nothing more than a squashed ant. No concern, no pity, no fear, no judgment. It’s better than looking at me with pity. She lays the towel in her lap and she shifts to the sink to run the towel under some water and then stashes it back into the freezer. 

I stay on the floor staring at the ceiling feeling the slight twinge of a burn on my face from the icy towel. My head starts to pound with a headache. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t see Armin today,” Annie says finally. I close my eyes. Marco wouldn’t want that.

“I’ll be fine,” I mutter. 

Annie doesn’t bother trying to convince me, she’s well aware that I’m just as stubborn as she is. I sit up after staying on the ground for a few more minutes, promising myself that I’m not going to start crying again when I look back at my doorway. I sit up feeling like my body is a bag of rocks and lean against the wooden drawer under the counters and look back at Marco. He’s still there. He’s always there. 

“Let’s go,” Annie says, having wheeled back towards the front door. How unfortunate that my little panic attack might make her late for work. 

I sigh, standing like a newborn deer and shuffle past Annie and to the garage across the strip of parking lot outside our apartment. I drive a van now. Another addition that Levi and Petra gave us. I unlock the car and drop into the driver’s seat waiting for Annie to wheel up the ramp that unfolds out the side door of the van. 

She manages to get into the car and lock herself into the empty passenger seat next to me. She fastens her seatbelt and waits for me to start driving. I don’t put music on. I don’t listen to music anymore. It only makes me upset like half the shit I used to like does. 

I drive to the police station. The drive is silent as it always is. Once we arrive at the station, I take a moment contemplating if I even want to go to classes today. I decide that I’m not going to, and then follow Annie inside. 

The two of us navigate through the station in the early morning. Everyone is sleepy as they nod their morning salutes at the two of us, I nod back, Annie ignores them. Down a hallway dimly lit by sour yellow lighting, I count my breaths in correlation with my footsteps. Inhale for four steps, exhale for six steps. 

Annie turns off into a room that is bursting with loud speaking and a clacking keyboard. Detective Hanji’s office. I glance inside the room as Annie pushes open the door without knocking. Hanji is standing at her computer one hand flying across the keyboard as the other hand holds a phone to her ear that she’s yelling into. She’s not angry or anything, Hanji just talks that way. She perks her head up when Annie enters, gives a wink, and continues to look back at her computer screen. 

“Don’t see Armin today, Jean,” Annie says before I can walk too far. 

I glance over my shoulder, almost amused with the shred of concern she’s shown me today. Maybe she’s feeling a little sentimental. She can hide it better than I can. 

“I’ll be fine,” I say for the second time. “I’ll pick you up later.” 

Her chest lowers with a sigh as she then closes the office door behind her. I continue down the hall past officers that are nameless to me until I get to Levi’s office. I knock twice before I enter. He’s sitting at his desk flipping through a thick stack of papers that must be a case profile. 

He raises his eyes to me and drops them back to the file. “Thought you had classes today,” he says like a statement rather than a question. 

I shrug, helping myself to the coffee machine in the corner since I kind of fucked that up this morning. “Don’t feel like going,” I answer. 

I hear the flip of a page in the silent room. “You said the same thing yesterday.” 

“Yeah, well,” I mutter as I harshly punch the buttons on the shit coffee maker. 

“You’re graduating in two years, no excuses,” Levi states. I softly knock the coffee maker with the side of my fist to get it to start pulling hot water. It finally starts gurgling with functioning sound and I turn to face Levi as coffee drips into the pitcher. 

“I know, I’m doing fine, great actually. My grades are fucking phenomenal if you haven’t noticed,” I say crossing my arms. 

“Are they ‘fucking phenomenal’ because Annie does all the work for you?”

I glare at the grumpy man. “Such faith, Detective.” 

He gives me a flat look and flips another page of the case file. I sigh to myself, hoping the smell of coffee eases the headache that’s brewing faster than the caffeinated liquid. 

“You look like shit, you know,” Levi says without looking at me. 

“Thank you.” 

He sends me another blank look. This man has mastered the ‘I’m judging you so hard right now’ look like he could win the Olympics with it. “Sleeping?” he asks. 

“Yes, sir,” I say without the respect that the other officers and I are supposed to use. 

“Eating?” 

“Yep.” 

“Seeing him?”

I swallow, ignoring the lingering presence. “No, sir.” 

Levi raises his eyebrows mirthlessly. He flips more pages through the case file as I pour myself a mug of thin coffee. 

“Maybe you should see Erwin before tomorrow,” Levi says. 

“I’m seeing Armin today, Erwin will be there,” I say taking a seat in front of his desk with the wrank coffee in hand. 

“That’s not seeing Erwin, is it.” 

“Close enough.”

“No,” Levi says, setting a pen in the crease of the thick file and letting the pages close. “I don’t think you should go to the estate tomorrow.” 

I stare at him as I take a sip of the coffee that burns my tongue. “Well, I’m going, so.”

Levi stares at me, a tactic he uses to make people feel so squeamish that they’ll confess all of their deepest darkest secrets without Levi saying so much as a word. Although I’m immune to it at this point. And besides, there isn’t anything that he doesn’t know already. 

I remember the first time I met Levi. Two years ago, the same day my life changed forever. He screamed at me in his cop voice and pointed at me with a gun forcing me to drop the same weapon I had in my hand. I remember the look he gave me in that moment. When I was standing over the body of a serial murderer, or in Levi’s case, a fucked up kid that he was trying to help turn his life around. I killed him, and with Eren’s life, Levi lost a part of himself too. 

Anyone who was on that land that night lost a part of themselves. 

I swear I thought he was going to shoot me right then. I could see it in his eyes that it would be so easy for him to put a bullet between my eyes and have my body collapse right next to Eren’s. 

But he didn’t, unfortunately. Instead, he arrested me. I was taken to the hospital along with Annie, Armin, and Mikasa. Everyone else was dead, they were a part of a crime scene at that point. And after a few interviews, I was no longer arrested, but I was kept in the hospital for psych evaluation that lasted months. 

Through that time, the only people allowed to see me were my doctors, including my new psychiatrist Erwin, Detective Levi Ackerman, Detective Hanji Zoe, and my parents. But after a while, I told my parents to stop coming, so the crime fighting trio became the backup parental guidance that I needed. 

I don’t know why Levi does what he does. I don’t know how he juggles his detective work with Hanji and his social work with Erwin. But he’s dedicated his life to it. And it almost makes me feel bad sometimes for killing one of his most wholehearted cases. Almost. But everytime I think about Eren it only makes me feel like grabbing a gun and shooting at his grave. So, still no guilt there, not for him. 

And before you start to question my position at the police department, I’m not a cop. Yes, I’ve trained to be a cop, but I’m not allowed to be one. Not yet. Not until I can pass my psych exam. And that’s going to be a while if ever. 

Levi has taken me on, if not to be able to watch me easier, then as an intern of sorts to learn more about the homicide department and social work that I’ve been interested in. No, I’ve never thought about this career path ever in my life until it dawned on me that I had no other purpose in my life other than being Marco’s husband. So I had to rewire my goals because one was shot to death. I figured, Marco wanted to save people, and I can’t become a doctor, so I went into law enforcement instead. 

Levi blinks away and grabs his phone, punching a text out to someone. “You’re not going to make me come out there, are you?” 

“Not for me, no,” I say, telling the truth. 

“And Annie?” 

I shrug, that also being the truth. 

Levi doesn’t lift his gaze from his phone. “You’re a pain in my ass.” 

I continue to sip on my coffee until Levi has me organizing some of his shit. Which ultimately ends up being Levi organizing his shit himself and making me watch because the old man can’t give up control on anything. 

I spend the first half of the day trailing behind Levi as I always do. Sometimes we meet with Hanji and Annie, other times we make house calls, other times we read our eyeballs out on case files and paperwork. Today Hanji was on a roll with some odd happenings around the city lately. Things like stolen fish, people walking naked and barely conscious through public parks, and a burnt down hardware store. She thinks these things are connected somehow but I have a hard time discerning what Hanji thinks is reality and what the rest of the world thinks is reality. But it takes up time. It takes my attention. It helps the days go by. 

After I’ve stayed at the department past my class time and into my designated station time, I tell Levi that I’m leaving to see Armin. 

“Take this,” Levi says pulling on one of his drawers and handing me the item. I look down at the object. A phone. At least some version of a phone. A long lived relic that should belong in a museum at this point. 

“Uh, why?” I ask looking up at the detective. 

“It gets signal out there,” Levi states. I look back down at the phone, flipping it open and grimacing at the plastic screen. I remember two years ago, once again, when we were fighting for our lives and the dooming fact that none of our phones had reception. Except Eren’s burner phone, of course. 

I look up at Levi. He’s gone back to flipping through emails on his computer acting like he’s not concerned. I slip the phone into my back pocket. 

“Thanks,” I mutter. Even though I’m not worried that Eren is going to rise from the dead to meet Annie and I and finish the job. And even though I think about it occasionally, I don’t think Mikasa is going to break out of prison to do the same deed. But the phone still gives me some sort of sense of security. 

“Talk to Erwin, privately,” Levi adds as I’ve turned to start heading out the door. Levi looks up at me with a knowing stare. “Tell him you’re still seeing him.” 

My stomach flips. I glance around the room, purposefully avoiding the figure that stands by the coffee maker. I look back at Levi with a pained expression. 

“How do you know?” I ask him. The only person that knows that I still see Marco - like really see Marco, I’m not making it up, although I do like to divulge in the hallucinations sometimes - is Annie. Yes, I’ve been seeing Marco ever since he died, so everyone knew then, but they thought I got better. I’ve been lying to Erwin and Levi and Hanji. They all think that Marco’s presence has fizzled from the corners of my eyes. But it’s not true. Marco is still very much by my side all day long. 

Levi tilts his chin, looking at me like I’m an idiot. “I’ve been working with kids with compromised psychies for years, Kirstein.” 

I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m not a kid.” 

“No, but you are lying to your psychiatrist, and that’s limiting your recovery.” 

I glare at Levi, practicing the same penetrating look that he uses on everyone else. Rage boils from my anxious stomach. My hands curl into fists and my jaw clenches. 

How can he sit there and tell me about the limitations of my recovery when he’s the one that let this shit happen in the first place? If he didn’t brush Armin off when he told Levi about his suspicions of Eren, then I wouldn’t have to be lying to my psychiatrist and limiting my stupid fucking recovery. If he wouldn’t have been an ignorant ass then I would never have to be in this office, I would never have to run a the bizarre hours of the morning, I would never have to help Annie grab the coffee filters from high shelves, I would never have to remind Armin that I don’t hate him, I would never have to rely on my roommate to save me from losing my mind. 

If only he’d done his job then everyone would still be alive. Marco would still be alive and we wouldn’t need to be having this conversation. 

“Fuck you, Levi,” I spit. I purposefully look to my left where Marco is standing, his face contorted into dissatisfaction as I cuss out one of the only people that find me worth saving. 

I then turn and exit the room, walking through the police station ignoring anyone that tries to talk to me, and then out to the van. 

I drive to the inpatient house, fuming, gripping the steering wheel like I’m trying to choke someone out. My eyes flick between the road and Marco’s reflection in my rearview mirror. Everytime I see him it sends a sickly mix of rage and grief through my stomach. 

Finally I arrive at the house having texted Erwin an hour ago that I would be showing up soon. I sit parked on the street in front of the house that seems no more spectacular than any other suburban home. But as I stare at it, floods of memories come to me that remind me that, no, this house is not like any other suburban home. 

I walk up the driveway with anxiety bubbling in my gut. I absentmindedly fidget with the necklace of Marco’s that I wear 100% of the time. The modern crazy house. The people that live here are young people that have nearly lost their minds. Erwin makes them his projects, sticks them in this house to train them to recenter themselves with reality while working on their healing. 

The thought is nice, but I hated it. I never belonged here. 

I knock on the front door and it takes no more than three seconds for someone to answer the door. Petra opens the door with a bright smile, it almost eases some of my anxiety. 

Petra works here as a nurse during the day, while there are other nurses that live here 24/7 like caregivers. Petra lets me inside and locks the door behind me with a key. And no, it’s not like she’s just locking the door so no one can break in, she locks it with a deadbolt so that no one can get out. 

I look out into the main room, finding no one milling about, which I think is a good sign. There’s also no screaming, no fighting, no running. All good signs. I take a deep breath, the familiar scent makes me wrinkle my nose. I’d put a lot of work in getting that smell out of my clothes. 

“How are you doing, Jean?” Petra asks, putting a light hand on my shoulder. I force a small smile to my face, just for Petra, she’s only ever been good to me. 

“I’m fine, how are you?” I ask trying to flip the question back onto her. It’s that awkward type of greeting that’s hard to dance around. Petra was technically a therapist of mine at one point while I lived here. I’m not supposed to ask her how she’s doing. But also I’ve seen her level Levi with a remark that sent him nearly running away with his tail between his legs, so I really just don’t know how to act around her. 

She nods with that soft smile, it reminds me of Marco a little. My chest hurts. I divert my eyes to the floor. 

“I’m good,” she says, “I was excited to hear that you were coming today, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

I wipe my hands on my jeans in an awkward fidget. “Uh, yeah, guess so.” The last three invitations Petra has sent me on doing dinner with her, Levi, and Annie I’ve ignored. I swallow around the guilt. 

“Anyway let me go get Erwin, I’ll be right back,” she says as she walks with a brisk pace down the hall to Erwin’s office. 

I stand uncomfortably in the entryway, waiting for Petra and Erwin to come back. I feel completely vulnerable and exposed in this house. Cameras everywhere. Crazies everywhere. Memories everywhere. 

I stuff my hands into my pockets to keep myself from anxiously scratching at my arms. Just when I’m about to step into the living room to sit and wait, someone hobbles down the steps. 

A kid an inch or two shorter than me with wavy red hair stops on the landing and stares at me. I press my lips into a tight line. Floch. 

“Hey,” Floch says, his hand dropping from where he was scratching his stomach under his shirt. 

“Hey,” I reply. 

He squints, loosely pointing at me. “You coming back?” 

“Just visiting.”

“Ah,” he says, nodding, and then turns down the hall. 

I exhale. He asks me that every time. I’m not sure if he wants me to move back or if he dreads the sight of me. The kid and I were not friends in any fashion. We were constantly trying to kill each other. I wonder if he remembers when he snuck into my room one night to wave a lighter in my face trying to set my bangs on fire. I wince at the memory. I just want to know where he got the lighter.

“Jean,” I hear a bulky voice say from down the hall. Erwin. He emerges with Petra following closely behind. I’ve gathered that the two are friends. 

“Hey,” I say to my psychiatrist who I’m working very hard to convince that I’m fine. “What’s up?” 

Erwin quirks a small smile. “Only good days,” he says. He always says that. Fuckin’ liar. 

“That’s good,” I say, rocking back on my heel and then my toes, uncomfortable with the height of this man. Usually I only talk to him when I’m sitting. “Is he alright?”

“Before that,” Erwin says with a little wave of his hand. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve got some time if you want to talk for a-”

“No thanks,” I say before he can finish. “Just kinda want to do a quick check-in is all.”

Erwin purses his lips together. I notice the worried look Petra gives me from his side. “Alright, whatever you think is best.” 

Whatever you think is best, I groan in my head. This guy. 

“Let’s go, then,” Erwin says, leading the way upstairs to the bedrooms on the second floor. I pass the doorless rooms as my eyes land on a few of my old roommates. Immaculate rooms that are required a cleaning check-in every day before curfew, kids sit on their beds or on the floor as they draw with earned pencils or read approved books. I try not to think of what these people have said in group therapy, some of their stories still haunt me to this day. 

Towards the end of the hall, we pass what used to be my room that I shared with a guy named Nac who I had the least issues with. Well, that is after I got kicked out of the room that I had been sharing with Armin after he’d tried to strangle me in a feverish lucid dream one night. 

Armin’s been left alone since then. 

We step up to Armin’s door. And yes Armin’s room is one of the only one’s that's allowed a door. But it’s not like he earned a door, Erwin hooked up his door along with some noise barriers and external locks. Even though one kid tried to light me on fire and another used to tell me that he imagined me without skin, Armin is still the most problematic of the group. 

I take a deep breath, my chest tight with a shaky heart. I smell Clorox and bleach. It reiterates the headache that rests behind my eyes. 

Erwin knocks on the door with the back of his knuckles just to be polite. No voice answers the call. 

Erwin and Petra exchange glances. I squint between the two of them. Fucking therapists. 

Erwin lets himself in as I follow begrudgingly behind him. Bright light fills the room. Sunshine from the kind autumn day filters through the plexiglass windows reinforced with white painted steel bars to make Armin’s room feel less like a prison, but also keep him from plummeting to the lawn a story below. Armin’s room is adorned with a bed, a desk and chair, and...well that’s it. All the other furniture that used to be in the room was too tempting for Armin to hurt himself with. 

My eyes land on the first figure in the room. A tall man, broad shouldered, with soft dark hair standing against the wall facing another hunched person on the ground. I blink away as soon as I recognize Marco, highly aware that Erwin will most definitely pick on any of my weird mannerisms if I lose focus. 

But of course Marco is here. He’s always here. And this time he’s turned his attention to Armin rather than me. Armin was his friend also, and even with how fucked up I’ve become, I’m doing a lot better than Armin. 

Marco stands there watching the small form on the floor, like he’s protecting him, making sure that he won’t do anything to hurt himself, and possibly sending him some comfort that Armin is still loved. 

I look over Erwin’s enormous shoulder at Armin on the ground. He hasn’t noticed that the three of us have entered his room. He continues to sit with his knees drawn up to his chest, his head resting against the wall to where he can stare aimlessly out the window. 

He reminds me of Annie on the hard nights. The two of them seem to search the soft life outside the windows for solitude in their succumbing times. 

The longer I’ve been away from the place, the farther apart my visits get, and the more Armin seems to change. Although, perhaps he hasn’t changed. Maybe I just forget the way he looks now. My memory likes to think of him in the times when he looked healthy, when he looked human. 

Armin sits there like the fetal form he’s become. His blonde hair is buzzed off to a fine layer over his round head. They have to maintain the hair cut or he’ll start pulling the hair out of his head as soon as he can muster a grip of the short strands. His white t-shirt and gray sweatpants hang on him like a cloth over wooden chairs, sagging over the contours of his protruding bones and hanging in the hollows of his body. Half of his weight loss could be caused by the laundry list of medications he has to take, the other half is because of his refusal to eat. 

Armin’s hands that wrap loosely around his thin legs are strapped in boxer-like gloves. Not the big, bulky, inflated kind that look like they should be in a cartoon. Armin wears gloves that are padded softly around his knuckles and fingers with velcro straps around his wrists. The gloves serve the purpose to limit Armin’s harming himself with scratching nails, biting off his fingers, and hitting himself without causing too much damage. 

I wore those gloves for a short period of time. But they gave up and had to strap me to a bed for hours in a day when my brain felt nothing but the need to harm myself. I’d already had a history with the feeling, so I was already thinking of ways around their preventions. I was also lucid enough that I knew what I was doing and trying with everything I had to do what I wanted. The gloves work better for Armin because most of the time, he doesn’t even know he’s hurting himself. 

“Armin, you have a visitor,” Erwin says, coming to stand a safe three foot distance away from my friend on the floor. I’ve seen Armin come at Erwin with a kitchen fork before, Armin won’t get far but he’s gotten close. Erwin is a hard egg to crack. 

Armin doesn’t move. He continues to look out the window with his blue eyes looking dull even in the light. 

An awkward silence tenses the room. I can feel Marco tugging in the back of my brain telling me to say something. 

“Armin, it’s-”

“Don’t say my name,” I tell Erwin before he can spoil my test I have for my friend. 

Erwin glances at me with a thick eyebrow raised in question, but then he remembers my little game and lets me proceed. 

I swallow wiggling my toes in my shoes with nerves. “September 2016,” I say rolling slightly on my heels. 

I watch Armin as his brain slowly rumbles to life like a junkyard transformer covered in rust and grime. Armin blinks once, then twice. His lips part slightly, but he says nothing. 

I sigh, squatting down to try and meet his eyes. “What happened in September 2016, Armin?” 

His lips twitch as he speaks like he’s a robot unaware of how to make facial expressions. “September 8th,” he says in a croak. “Four different species of giraffe were revealed from a previously known single species.” 

I frown. “What else?” 

“September 9th,” he continues, his eyes maintaining his lifeless gaze out the window. “North Korea conducts fifth nuclear test at the Punggye-ri Nuclear Test Site.” 

“What about-”

“September 17th,” he says, unaware that I’m even here, “Terrorist bomb in Chelsea, New York injures 29 people.” 

“Armin-”

“September 26th. First US Presidential debate: Democratic nominee Hillary Clinton vs Republican Donald Trump at Hofstra University,” he says like a human computer. “September 28th. Hurricane Matthew forms near the Windward Islands and goes on to kill over 1000 in Haiti, the Caribbean, and the US. September 30th-”

“Armin, stop,” I say, restraining myself from reaching out and grabbing his shoulders. “What happened to you in September of 2016? Who did you meet in September 2016?”

Armin’s babbling stops. His eyes rest into a shutting down mode like the orange glowing power button on a desktop monitor. My eyebrows scrunch together. 

“April,” I say, trying a different route. “What about April? Who has a birthday in April?” 

“Charlie Chaplin born April 16th, 1889. Washington Irving born April 3rd, 1783. Maya Angelou-”

“April 7th, Armin. Do you know anyone who was born on April 7th?” My hands curl into fists as rage mixed with loss tangle into my throat. 

Armin blinks once. Rebooting. “Billie Holiday born April 7th-”

“No, Armin,” I growl. A soft hand gently lays down on my shoulder. I almost jump thinking Marco has finally broken through the other side. But with a jerky glance over my shoulder I realize that it’s Petra. She gives me a hesitative look. I sigh. It’s never taken this much before. “April 7th, 1998,” I say, lowering my voice into a fake calm. “You have a friend that was born that day, what is his name?”

Armin closes his pale lips. His head turns towards me like a porcelain doll with a hairline fracture through its eye. He looks at me like he’s still looking through a window. When his face is turned to me, it makes my heart stutter a couple of beats. His blue eyes sit in his head like pennies in the bottom of a fountain. His once round cheeks are carved out in high cheekbones and a jutting jawbone. The pink scars on his face are starting to fade to a light flesh tone, making him look more distorted than scarred. I think of the slash on my arm that is fading to the same color. 

Armin’s eyes finally focus coming to hone in on my fearful gaze, waiting for him to give me the answer I want. 

“Jean,” he says eventually. 

My shoulders release some tension. I was worried for a moment there that Armin had officially replaced the storage space used in his mind for the memories of me and his other friends with dumb facts about the world. I know one day it will happen, I just hope I can put it off for as long as possible. 

“Hey, man,” I say with a sigh of relief. 

His eyebrows twist together slightly. “You’re alive?” 

I press my lips together. “Yeah, I’m alive,” I say hating how I’ve had to tell him I’m alive every time I’ve visited for the past six months. 

“Oh,” he mutters, his eyes drifting towards his knees. There’s no smile of comfort or sense of security. Armin sees me being alive as another thing to feel guilty for. Whether I’m alive or dead to him, it doesn’t matter. I’m pretty sure Armin sees me on his long list of sins to suffer for. 

I glance over my shoulder at Erwin and Petra. I give them a look that’s meant to be the most polite “fuck off,” as I can muster. Petra nods, turning and leaving without another question. Erwin gives me a long stare and then follows after her. 

I watch them leave and close the door behind them. I’m not alone in here with Armin. I know Erwin is kicking his ass into high gear to jog down to his office and watch Armin and I on the camera’s he’s hooked up all over the house. They’ll be watching, and they’ll be listening. They always are. I feel like my entire life has been swallowed by Big Brother. 

I turn back to Armin, his gaze is trained to the carpet. I sigh to myself and sit crossing my legs under me. I look at him for a moment. Why am I even here at this point? I’m visiting him because the anniversary of the day he went crazy is tomorrow. Why would I even want to remind him of that? 

“Is Marco here?” Armin asks his eyes shifting for a split moment making them look momentarily human. 

I bite my tongue. Yes. Armin knew about my hallucinations of Marco when we were living together. He posed the idea that maybe Marco wasn’t in my head and that maybe he really is looking after me in his afterlife. Erwin likes to squash that idea. 

“No,” I say with a strained voice. I don’t look to my right. “He’s dead, Armin.” 

“Killed,” Armin says immediately almost like he’s trying to rub salt in the wound. I can’t blame him for anything he does. He’s only in control of about half his actions and words. “By me.”

“No, Mikasa killed him.” The frown on my face grows, I hold my eyes closed for a moment to maintain my composure. 

“I killed Mikasa too,” Armin says, his eyes having gone blank at the carpet. I watch his fingers twitch. 

“Let’s just not talk about it, man,” I sigh looking around the room for something to talk about. We used to be able to distract each other by chatting about things that don’t matter, but I think Armin’s brain is incapable of that anymore. 

“You painted anything lately?” I ask him, feeling like I’m talking to one of my nieces who hate me. 

“No,” he answers, “They took my paint.” 

I purse my lips, thinking of the only reason they would have to confiscate something as innocent as paint. Boy, he’s getting creative. 

I glance at my watch. I’ve been in the house for a total of seven minutes. I barely think I can make it to ten. 

Armin drags his empty eyes up to the stupid fucking window again. I glare at him while he’s not looking at me. I feel the need to send an annoyed look at Marco as well but I refrain. 

“Did you see that Roger’s Hardware burnt down?” he asks the window. 

I narrow my eyes. Rogers…? 

The hardware store. The one down the road from the science building at Trost Uni. The one Hanji was talking about today. She thinks the hardware store arson, naked people, and missing grocery store fish are all a mass scheme of some bored whack. I don’t know why she’s concerning herself with the crap. 

But I thought that only happened last night? And Armin’s not allowed to see the news.

“Uh, yeah, nobody was hurt so that’s good,” I mutter scratching the back of my head. 

Armin gives a tight nod. “Yeah.” 

I don’t bother asking him how he knows about the hardware store. If I asked Armin how he knew half the crap he’s stored in his memory it would be agonizing lecturing from him. Well, he would’ve done that years ago. 

I sigh to myself. I came here for a reason. And even after two years and what seems like decades of watching Armin succumb to near-insanity, I still feel the need to make him pay sometimes. 

“Do you know what tomorrow is?” I ask him. I watch the back of his shaved head. Parts of his scalp are patched with ugly scars that he can’t grow hair from anymore. 

“Yes,” he says. 

I wait. If only, Armin. If only you just told someone. If only you told me. If only you told Levi. If only. 

“Are you going to kill yourself?” he asks suddenly and without sympathy. I blink at him, almost shocked at his blunt question. 

I scowl at him. “Fuck yourself, Armin,” I say quietly so he can hear but hopefully the cameras can’t. “And no, I don’t plan on it.” 

“You were going to last year, you told me.” 

“I know, but that was a year ago, dickhead, a lot’s changed.” 

Armin looks back at me, his dead eyes making him look like that creepy possessed doll again. “Has it?” 

I squint at him. “Has what?”

“Do you really not want to kill yourself anymore?” Armin asks. 

I stare at him, my mouth falling slightly open in awe at his demented persistance. I don’t know if he’s asking in concern or if he thinks that I’m lying. Whatever the reason, this is a fucked up conversation. 

“Not-not necessarily but I’m fine, man. Can we, like, not talk about-?”

“Maybe you should.” 

I stare at him again, my chest rattling with that stupid beating heart in my chest. “Maybe I should fucking what, Armin?” My voice raises. I don’t care if Erwin hears. I just hope he can get up here fast enough before I punch this sick kid in the face. 

“Maybe you should kill yourself, Jean,” Armin says almost politely. “It’s what you want, right?”

I stare at him. Then look at the ground between us. Then look at Marco to my right. Erwin can suck my dick. 

Marco looks back at me like he’s a deer in headlights. His wide brown eyes filled with just as much confusion, panic, and offense as I feel.

I look back at Armin. “Fuck is wrong with you?” 

Pro tip: never ask someone dealing with mental health issues that question. 

As Armin continues to look at me, a smile spreads across his face like his lips are being pulled by fish hooks. A dried spilt on his lip shines with the slightest bit of blood. He smiles for a moment before a flat laugh rumbles from inside his throat. 

Armin laughs like he did when all of us hid out on Reiner's mom’s back porch, high off our asses and trying to get rid of the smell on our clothes by diving through the flower bushes. Reiner got in so much fucking trouble. Connie ended up butt ass naked. 

My hands curl into fists as I begin to to raise a threatening blow at the whack job. Fuck this. Fuck him. Maybe he does deserve this. 

“Time to go, Jean,” Erwin’s baritone voice booms into the room as the door swings open. 

I crack a small laugh myself. Amusing Erwin, amusing. I’m not leaving until Armin gets a taste of my newly learned self defense moves. 

“Like hell-” Before I can send my knuckles into the bridge of Armin’s nose, a giant hand clamps around my comparatively small fist and wrenches me backwards without much worry for my health. 

As I land on my back, my hand still vise-gripped in Erwin’s, I hear Armin’s laughter grow louder. 

Marco, don’t look. 

I twist my hand out of Erwin’s grip, jerking myself forward to lunge after Armin. My intent is to murder him but I’m sure I won’t get that far. I can try though. 

Armin’s laughter burns oil in my blood making me feel like a race car barreling down an open highway. His face triggers memories in my head. I think of Eren.

“How ‘bout you try killing yourself you-” my shouting voice is silent by a slapping hand over my face. I scream into the massive palm, clawing at the thick fingers that damn near wrap around the whole front of my head. 

Erwin lifts me with his one handed grip until my head is locked onto his body. He stands, pulling me up with him, and backs out of the room. I watch Petra run to guard the space between Erwin lugging me out and Armin cackling on the floor. I continue to try and belt insults at the blond asshole even with my mouth trapped. 

Armin laughs and laughs like some sort of Batman villain until he jumps to his feet in a swift movement and nearly knocks Petra over. She manages to grab him before he can leap onto me. 

He looks up at me with wide, violence filled eyes and that twisted smile. My voice chokes in my throat as panic starts to take over my instincts. That face. Eren. That’s Eren’s face. 

Eren. Eren’s alive. Eren’s here. Eren. Eren. Eren. Eren. 

“See you soon, Horse Face!” Armin cackles at me right as Erwin uses his foot to slam the door closed. 

My previous murderous attacks turn for survival instincts. My body wiggles out of Erwin’s grip like water bursting out of a damn. I make no hesitation in bolting down the hall back towards the stairs. I run like I run every morning, like I ran that night when fighting for my life. 

I’m burning. My brain is on fire, my legs ignite in licks of flame, my chest rumbles with molten lava, and my skin hisses with a burn that feels like ice. What the fuck is happening? Why the fuck is Armin like that? Was that even Armin? 

I nearly collapse down the stairs in the thundering slide, but I manage to catch myself before I go plummeting onto Floch who’s standing at the foot of the steps, wondering what the ruckus is about. 

In my hesitence, that fucking massive hand slaps over my shoulder again and holds me still. 

“You’re okay, you’re safe-” 

“You’re fucking out of your mind!” I scream as I turn to Erwin's face. “You are absolutely out of your mother fucking mind! What the-what the fuck, Erwin? What the fuck are you doing? He looked-he was going to kill me! That-that-that-” I grit my teeth when my brain won’t slow down to spit the words out fast enough. I stare at the hand I have pointed down the hall. “Eren,” is all I can muster in a final whimper.

Erwin looks at me, his hand still on my shoulder. He looks at me the same way Levi looked at me when I came into work this morning. Although Levi looks entirely expressionless, the two share the same “I don’t think this kid is doing as well as I thought he was” expression. 

“My office,” he says. 

“No,” I say, shrugging his hand off my shoulder then turning straight for the front door. “I’m leaving, and ain’t no way I’m coming back.”

“We didn’t know he’d say something-”

I spit a sharp laugh at Erwin’s start of an excuse. “You didn’t know he’d tell me to kill myself? That he would look at me that he was going to eat me?” I spin around to hiss in Erwin’s face. “Your stupid little recovery house is holding a murderer and you’re waiting for him to crack and kill all of you.” 

Erwin looks at me, unimpressed, having already heard shit like this before. I don’t care. “He’s not Eren, Jean.” 

I laugh again. “You’re going to die here, you and all of your crackpots.” 

“My office, Jean.” 

“Absolutely not, I’m done with this shit. I’m done with him, I’m done with you. I’m out of here.” I turn, shoulder checking Floch in the process and stomp towards the front door. “Let’s go, Marco.” 

I freeze. My gaze lifting to Marco’s who’s standing in the entrance of the living room with a grimace on his face. I curse to myself. 

“Jean,” Erwin says with the same warning dominance as an angry mother. “Know what is good for you.”

I drag my jaw forward with a wicked eye roll. Why does he say things like that? Why does he think I’m going to succumb to his petty mind games and try to play me by plucking the torn strings of my conscience? It’s not going to work, it never has, stop trying Erwin. 

I glance at Erwin over my shoulder, defiance ridden over my expression, and then continue to burst my way out of the house. 

I drive for hours. Literally hours. I yell at Armin or Eren or whomever in fake arguments over the steering wheel. I punch at the horn and knock against the passenger seat. I cry and scream and sit in silence. I do whatever I need to to blow off steam so I don’t go home and have another panic attack in front of Annie. I doubt she’ll help me this time. Especially when she told me not to go. 

Finally, I pull back into the police department’s parking lot to pick up Annie. I don’t bother walking inside, I wait for her while I let my eyes rest on the rearview mirror to look at Marco as he gives me a soft smile of encouragement. 

The first person to bother me in the van is not Annie. 

Levi stands outside my window with his arms crossed over his chest. I roll my head towards him with a sour look on my face. I roll the window down an inch. 

“What,” I say, totally unwilling to have a conversation without anyone but my dead boyfriend. 

“Erwin called,” Levi says. 

I sigh, rolling the window back up and completely ignoring his presence. To Levi's credit, he doesn’t push it. Perhaps I underestimated him, maybe he does know what he’s doing. Pushing me any farther at this point will send me into some sort of violence. 

Levi walks back into the building, his arms crossed and his head probably buzzing with another plan to get through to me. Moments later, Annie rolls out into the parking lot and lets herself in. 

I wait for her to get situated and then begin driving again. I burnt half the gas out the car while on my rage drive. 

“Levi said you’re going to do something stupid,” Annie says without concern. 

“Probably,” I say with the same amount of carelessness. 

“So things with Armin didn’t go well,” she states. 

I drive in silence for a while, momentarily missing the distraction of music that I used to love, then sigh. “You were right about him,” I pause, remembering Armin’s twisted grin and wild eyes. “I don’t think Armin’s alive anymore.” 

*

The rest of the night weighed heavy with silent tension. Annie didn’t ask about what happened at the crazy house and I didn’t feel like talking about it. Annie ate a handful of carrots for dinner and I stared at the fridge for twenty minutes then gave up. Eventually the two of us are sitting in the living room, Max resting his head on Annie’s lap as she scratches at his ears absentmindedly. 

I scroll through the news on my phone. Just like last year, they do revamp stories on the current status of the Jaeger Massacre. Just to torture myself, I read the casualty list off one artice. Historia Reiss, 19. Ymir Mularczyk, 21. Sasha Braus, 20. Cornelious Springer, 19. Reiner Braun, 21. Berthold Hoover, 21. Marco Bodt, 20. Eren Jaeger, 19.

“8 Killed and 4 Injured College Students Murdered by Childhood Friend and Trost’s Dr. Posion’s Younger Brother.” 

I swipe through the pictures on the article. Of course, Zeke is the first one they’re worried about and the only person that has nothing to do with any of this. It shows one of his most infamous pictures of him sitting in court in a powder blue prison uniform staring blankly at a family member of one of his victims. Then there’s a family picture with Eren clinging closely to Zeke’s side with a cheery smile on his face. If I stare at the picture for too long, the smile cracks into the psychotic smile he looked at me with. And then I start thinking about Armin again. 

My gut boils with a subtle rage thinking about where Zeke is right now. Well, not so much where he is, more so why he’s still here. For Zeke’s original trial, he was found guilty on seven counts of 1st degree murder and sentenced to life in prison. Everyone in Trost fully disagreed with the decision to keep the motherfucker alive but he withheld information long enough to get himself a plea bargain. A real fleabag if you ask me. 

But after Eren’s personal experiment with killing people (by murdering all my friends and my soulmate) Zeke was brought up for a retrial for possibly having a connection to the Jaeger Massacre. Inevitably, there was enough reasonable doubt that Zeke wasn’t a part of Eren’s plot. I think it’s bullshit. I’m pretty sure Eren was too much of an idiot to work out something that detailed. But still, Zeke was acquitted of the new charges and merely moved to a maximum security prison. It makes me sick thinking someone of Eren’s bloodline is still alive and lurking in the world. Don’t even get me started on Mikasa. 

I scroll past the killers’ photos then grimace at a picture of me. I’m sitting in the witness stand looking absolutely horrible, and I was the healthiest of the four left to survive. I close my eyes remembering what it felt like to sit up on that podium. 

I couldn’t get over the scent of the place. A subtle lemon smell that must’ve been from wood polish. The courthouse was immaculate. Just like the hospital was. The two places that kept my residence for a solid two months were both so clean to the point that the chemical smell constantly reminded you that you were sitting in a once bacteria infested chair, and it nearly drove me crazy. I wanted to smell the faint propane from Marco and I’s gas oven, the stench of a forgotten pile of dirty clothes in the corner, the familiar woodsy scent of Marco’s shampoo. I wanted to smell leftover candles, old food, and aged carpet. But I was surrounded by bleach and antibacterials and soon enough, the clothes that I brought from my house, that smelled like the things I loved, also faded away to the cleaning solution scent. 

During the time of the trial, I was in a similar mental state to Armin’s currently. I was either screaming, throwing things, desperately trying to harm myself with whatever sharp or toxic object I could get my hands on, or I was silent, catatonic, and stoic. I was almost deemed unfit for trial because everytime Hanji mentioned the case I started succumbing to hyperventilating panic attacks. But of course, who cared about my mental state when the world wanted the gory details? 

After a lot of fucking therapy with Erwin, I sat on that podium and stared at Mikasa for the first time since that night. Unsurprisingly, Mikasa looked fine. She didn’t seemed bothered that she could possibly be facing a lifetime in prison for accessory to a crime and attempted murder. Just like me, I’m sure the only thing she was worried about is the fact the Eren wouldn’t be there to save her anymore. And she no longer had Eren to save. Her purpose was lost. 

I wanted her to die though. I swore to the court that she killed Marco, but after they were able to uncover the recordings of the cabin and woods that night, it was disproved. It made me sick everytime they said the phrase, “Reiner Braun accidentally shot and killed Marco Bodt.” Even the moment Marco was shot dead I hadn’t blamed Reiner for it. Because he didn’t. Reiner was only to try and save his friend just like Marco was. 

Even though I’d already been released on my murder charge of Eren, they still questioned me about it in court. I sat there empty like my friends’ caskets in their graves and stared holes of hate into the defenders face. 

She quirked an eyebrow at me, her glasses hung low on her nose making her look like a trashy substitute teacher. “Tell me, Mr. Kirstein, what happened after you, Mr. Arlert, Ms. Leonhart, and Ms. Ackerman escaped the burning cabin?” 

I waited, staring at her. Millions of people were watching me. There were almost three hundred people in the room, they stood up in the back because there weren’t enough seats for the fucked up humans that wanted to see this trial in person, the rest of the people were watching on tv, waiting to hear more about the lasting legacy of their favorite modern serial killer. All of those people, including the families of my friends, my own parents, Marco’s parents and sisters, and I stared right back at that sick defender, hoping that she could see the look in my eyes that was her dead client's last image before I shot him in the head. 

“I carried Annie towards the trees,” I said staring, unblinking. “Then I saw Eren in the woods running towards the garage, and I started shooting at him.” 

“Was Mr. Jaeger using a firearm at you or your friends at the time, or was he merely escaping?” 

I paused, staring. “He was escaping.” 

“Did you know, before you started firing, that Mr. Jaeger was unarmed at that moment?” 

“He had a knife.” 

“Yes, but he had no firepower, no guns, no distance weapons.” She waited for me to say something. I didn’t amuse her, I lowered my gaze until I was glaring at her through my eyebrows. “Can you approximate how far you were from Mr. Jaeger when you started shooting at him?” 

“Forty feet.” 

“Forty feet,” she repeats glancing back at the jury next to her. “Do you think it’s possible to be harmed by a knife at a forty foot distance?” 

Oh. My chest burned hot fire into my limbs. My weak body was charging with a rage that could only be tamed with the bloody image of that lady’s face. I could feel the violence building inside of me, I was ready to leap over the podium and grab the woman's throat in front of millions of people. I would’ve done it. It’s not like I had anything left to live for at that point. My life could’ve ended with a rain of bullets in that courtroom for all I cared. But I stayed in my seat with my hands gripping the wooden edges as I let my eyes linger on Marco that stood at the prosectures table next to my lawyer, Levi, and Hanji. Marco’s eyes told me to remain calm, to remember that his family and my family were watching, that I would only be hurting him if I did something so destructive. 

I then looked at Levi and Hanji. The two of them looked more pissed than I’d ever seen them. I could see Levi physically restraining Hanji with his hand around her shoulder. She was talking under her breath with a twisted scowl on her face. She kept trying to tell my lawyer to do something, but I don’t think I could’ve been saved at that moment. 

I looked at Marco, asking him for some wisdom, intelligence, restraint. I needed him to tell me what to say or I could be locked up just like Mikasa was. 

Then I looked back at the defender and her trashy face. “The woods around the cabin had been booby trapped the whole night, he could’ve been leading me to another trap, I was protecting my friends.” I don’t know how I kept my calm. I don’t know how I even came up with some crap like that. Maybe it was partly the truth, but I know for damn sure that I really just wanted to kill Eren. 

“Perhaps,” she said. I wished I had a gun. “But you chased after him never-the-less, correct?” 

I gave a small nod. 

“And were any traps set off?” 

I shook my head slowly. 

“And then when happened, Mr. Kirstein?” 

I looked away from Marco, away from Levi and Hanji, away from the defender, and stared right at Mikasa. Her head was down but I knew she was watching, I waited for her to meet my eyes. I wanted this to hurt her. 

“I shot him in the knee,” I said when Mikasa’s brown eyes locked onto mine. I remember looking at the devil itself that night, and now she’s playing an innocent little girl. Tears burned in my eyes, I didn’t know if it was from the memory, the rage, or the fact that I hadn’t stopped crying for months. I let tears slip over my cheeks as I spoke. “He fell. Armin and I reached him and he was on the ground wounded and unarmed. He told Armin that he’d killed everyone just to make him go crazy. Eren blamed Armin for everything that happened that night. Armin had started to lose himself, so I shot Eren in the head so he'd stop talking.” 

I felt the stuttering light of flashing cameras and the heat of tension rise in the room, but I didn’t take my eyes off of Mikasa. I wanted her to know that I killed Eren, that he deserved it, and that I’d motherfucking do it again. 

Slips of misery poked through Mikasa’s stone exterior. Her lips wavered, her shoulders tensed, her gaze narrowed. No camera could have caught her near invisible emotion, but I did. And that’s all I needed. 

I looked back at the defender with tears still streaming down my face. Hanji’s face was in her hands and Levi still looked like he was trying not to pull out his gun and shoot me in the head to shut me up just like I did to Eren. Who fucking cares? I dared them to tell me I was wrong. 

The defense tried to charge me with, at the very least, manslaughter. The jury talked about it for twenty minutes before coming to the educated conclusion that I was not guilty because “they would’ve done the same thing.” Legally, I got off on self-defense, thankfully. And then was sentenced to a shit ton of time in Erwin’s Rehabilitation Home for Young Adults. 

The case quickly wrapped up after that. Neither Armin nor Annie could come to the hearings due to health reasons. But I’m sure they watched as Mikasa was led off the property in a reinforced van to take her to prison for the next twelve years. I wished it was more. 

I remember leaving the courthouse that day. Well, actually, I don’t, but I do remember walking out of the courtroom and blacking out. The next moment I remember was Hanji and Levi’s arguing voice in my hospital room. 

And that’s what justice is supposed to look like, I guess. 

I open my eyes to find my phone screen having faded to black and the light outside along with it. I glance over at Annie. 

“Do you think there’s a reason that the three of us survived?” I ask her, having no idea where I’m going with the question. I glance at the time, it’s eleven at night, about the same time we found Historia dead. 

Annie doesn’t bother to look at me. She blinks at the window. I wonder if Armin is looking out his window the same way right now. 

“I’m not sure if any of this was supposed to happen,” she says finally. “Maybe we survived because we’re being punished.” 

“Why would we be being punished?” 

She shakes her head slightly. “I don’t know. But I know that surviving hasn’t been a blessing.” 

I blink at the dog that loves to ignore me even though it would die without me. Sasha and Connie’s dog. This stupid animal should be with Sasha and Connie in their home laying across their tangled bodies as they loudly sleep. Marco loved this stupid dog. It would take him twenty minutes to say goodbye to the pet when we went over to Sash and Connie’s to hang out. I always figured Marco and I would get a dog one day. 

I know what should’ve been. I’ve played everyday thinking about what it would’ve been like if we hadn’t gone to the cabin. Everyday would be so normal, so boring, so average, but it’s all I wanted. 

So now I have the rest of my lonely life to live with someone who hates me and a lingering memory of what I could’ve had. I just want to know why. Why did this happen? Why is this the universe that I was put in? Couldn’t I have been put in the universe where Marco and I lived a long, boring life together until we died of heart problems? Or couldn’t I have been put in the universe that killed the two of us that night? 

All these possibilities. Some parallel universe that is controlled by a different god would’ve made Marco and I live opposite lives. I know there’s some universe out there that has me dying at the hands of Mikasa instead of Marco, and he’s the one that left laying on the floor of his apartment wondering why. There’s an infinite amount of universes and an infinite amount of lives, there’s always going to be a different decision that could’ve been made in that split moment that defined the rest of our lives. 

I just want to know why this life is the one I’ve been forced to live. 

I spend the rest of the night on the floor. Annie escapes to her room, probably just to leave me alone in my self pity. I let my mind be distracted by Marco’s long body stretched across the couch. He looks like he’s drifting in and out of sleep. It makes me question if Marco is a spirit or hallucination. Do ghosts sleep? 

“Hey,” I say, my mouth dry after not speaking for hours. Marco’s eyes blink open slowly. As he catches my eyes, a soft smile spreads over his lips. I think of all the places I see Marco. Damn near everywhere. But he’s only ever watching. “Why do you only talk to me at the cemetery?” 

His smile fades away as his teeth worry at his bottom lip. He’s hiding something, obviously, but I can’t force him to do anything anymore so we’ll see if he’s feeling honest tonight.

“I wouldn’t mind you talking to me, you know. I miss the sound of your voice.” 

He remains silent, looking at me with those sad eyes. I sigh, letting my hand drift up towards the couch just close enough to be an inch away from where Marco’s hand is resting. 

“Levi and Erwin know now,” I say, watching the small space between our hands and hoping that he can close the distance. “Erwin might make me go back to the house. He’ll try to take you away.” 

Honestly though, I’d like to see Erwin try and drag my stubborn ass back to that place. It’s a voluntary thing anyway, but him, Levi, Hanji, and Petra will all gang up on me to go. And then I’ll be in the house stuck with Eren-Armin. 

I glance at the digital clock on the microwave in the kitchen. Just after 1AM. A rock rolls into my gut. I look back at Marco. 

He continues to look at me the way he did in the courthouse. I stretch my fingers to close the space between our hands but Marco shifts away from my touch. I frown. So does he. 

“It’s been two whole years now,” I say softly like I don’t want to even hear it myself. “I miss you so much.” 

Eventually, my eyes fall heavier and heavier the longer I look at Marco. I finally fall asleep listening to Annie’s soft sobs in the other room. 

*

One year is far too short to be coming back to this place. Even as I take the exit that leads us towards the country roads that eventually wind their way to the Jaeger estate, I feel anxiety vibrating in my bones. 

Halloween decorations litter the front lawns of rural homes we pass. I scowl at them. Annie says nothing as she looks out her passenger window with a box in her lap. The long drive seems to take an eternity without music and conversation. 

Eventually, and with great trepidation, I turn left onto the great long gravel driveway that leads to the Jaeger cabin. As I pull onto the driveway, my instinct is to stop the car. Annie looks over at me with a question hanging in the air. 

“I…” I start feeling my chest tighten around the lack of proper oxygen. “I just need a moment.” 

I stare down the long driveway as memories flood my mind. It looks different in the light. I promised Levi that we’d leave here before it got dark. 

“Okay,” Annie says softly. I swallow. Annie hasn’t been here since that day. I was here a year ago to kill myself. And every news channel has paraded images of this place around the internet for the past two years. We’re never going to be able to leave this behind. 

If only a car had worked. If only a phone had cell service. If only someone flipped a lightswitch on. If only the microwave didn’t work. If only Marco and I didn’t split up in the woods. If only I carried the gun. If only Historia and Ymir didn’t leave the group. If only Reiner wasn’t depressed. If only Annie had gone to help Reiner and Bert. If only we’d stayed in the house. If only. If only. If only. 

The damn woods. I train myself every morning by taking my run through the woods so that I don’t have such a pathetic fear of them anymore. I’ve trained for such a long time and I still see my friends face behind trees and their screams in the distance. I still feel like Eren is watching me, taunting me, just like he did Armin.

I feel a hand rest softly over my forearms that’s flexed with the force I’m holding the steering wheel at. I nearly jump thinking that it’s Marco. I blink at Annie, surprised by her physical support. Usually the only physical support I got from her was a kick in the ass. 

“Let’s just get it over with,” she states, looking down the driveway. 

I sigh. Yeah, alright. 

I drive incredibly slow towards the cabin, letting the car roll at whatever speed it wants and then tapping the brakes when I think we’re going too fast. And all too soon, although it will always be too soon, the cabin appears into view. Well, what used to be the cabin. 

The burnt down shell of the wooden structure sits abandoned on overgrown grass. Stray stands of yellow crime scene tape waves uselessly from a wooden beam that’s somehow still standing. This place hasn’t been visited in probably months, unless idiot kids have been poking around here. I hope Connie’s spirit scares the shit out of them. 

Annie and I look out at the land, neither of us making an effort to get out of the car just quite yet. My eyes hone in on the picture frames that sit in front of the burnt remains. My stomach sags. 

“Let’s go,” Annie says as she starts getting out of the car. I sigh, letting her do her thing in getting out of the car because it takes her twice as long to do so. I wait until her wheels have hit the ground and then I slide out of the car with a groan. 

“Jean.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” I mutter to Annie as I round the back of the car. Her wheelchair won’t move nicely around this terrain, I’ll have to push her even though she hates it. 

“What?” Annie says looking up at me with a stupid expression on her face. 

I give her a stupid look back, my temper already shortening at her imaptience. “I said I’m coming, jeez.” 

“I didn’t say anything,” she says, her expression flattening out. 

I squint at her. “You said my name,” I say, feeling my chest hump loudly. “You…”

I jerk around me, my eyes searching wildly for whatever the fuck just said my name. Someone definitely said my name. What the fuck is happening? 

“Then who the-” I freeze when my turn meets the worried eyes of my dead boyfriend. I yelp and stumble back nearly collapsing on top of Annie into her wheelchair. I clutch at my chest trying to catch my breath. “You asshole, you can’t do that to me.”

“Jean,” he says again, uncaring for the scare he gave me. The sound of his voice riddles goosebumps over my skin, it really sounds like him, not like he’s just in my head. His gaze is parted from mine and looking anxiously into the trees. He holds his hands in front of him as he fidgets while popping his knuckles. 

I blink at him. Then look over my shoulder at Annie who looks just as scared as me. “Do you…?” I ask her softly, not wanting to offend Marco if he hears. 

She shakes her head giving me a level look that reminds me of Levi. I turn back to Marco. 

“Marco?” I ask tentatively. 

He rolls his lips together and blinks at the woods. He looks at me for a moment before he returns his look at the trees. “Something’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong?” My protective instinct for my boyfriend kicks in whether he’s dead or not. 

“Someone’s here,” he says, his voice strained. I can see him physically swallow. God, this is unlike any hallucination I’ve had. “Someone I don’t know. I-I don’t know why they’re here.” 

“Baby, what are you talking about?” 

“The barn,” he says looking back at me. My thundering heart stops. I wait for him to explain, but he doesn’t. He just gives me that worried look as if the devil’s about to walk through the trees. 

I turn to Annie. 

“Jean, I don’t-”

“Hear me out,” I stay stopping her before she can destroy the image of Marco just like everyone else tries to. “This is different from usual. He’s saying that something is wrong and we should probably check the barn out.”

She stares at me for a long time. She holds the box protectively in her lap. I can’t imagine that there’s any mental health book out there that tells you it’s okay to fall into your hallucinations. But I really need to do this just to see if there’s any validity or not. 

“He usually doesn’t speak to me, not for real. He speaks to me at the cemetery because, I don’t know, I’m pretty sure I imagine most of the conversation. But he’s really talking to me right now, and he’s worried, and I really want to do this for him,” I ramble, feeling like I’m pleading for my mother to let me go play with my friends. “Please, Annie.”

“Jean,” she says almost like a warning. “Marco is dead.” 

“I fucking know Marco is dead, okay? I just, you won’t get it, just please, please let me do this one thing.” Do I need Annie’s permission to go investigate Marco’s concern? No. But if I leave here alone here while I stumble into the woods that I tried to kill myself in, she will not hesitate to call Levi instantly. Levi who is probably waiting in his cop car now ready to break all speeding laws in getting here. I just don’t want that. “Just five minutes, please.” 

Her hard gaze travels beyond me looking at the void behind me. No Marco. She sighs. 

“Five minutes,” she agrees, “And I’m going with you.” 

“Alright, fine, good, thank you,” I mumble as I give a look at Marco over my shoulder with a thumbs up. He doesn’t seem amused by it. He still seems inherently worried. 

I shuffle behind Annie and start pushing her around the wreckage of the burnt house towards the thick of the woods where the barn is. It’ll be easier to find in the woods. Especially with the remnants of police tape leading us along. 

My chest thunders as my hands shake. I should not be doing this. This is literally the worst thing to do when coming here. The barn is the last place I should go. The barn where Ymir died. The barn where Sasha died. But Marco’s concerned, and I’m still going to do what I can to protect him. 

Annie’s wheelchair rumbles and bounces jerkily over the unkempt land. I hear her curse to herself as we move along. Marco trails beside me until we’re deeper in the woods, then he starts to lead us towards his sickly feeling. 

I try not to pay attention to the nature around us. I try not to envision the trees in the dark with blood pumping through my veins like rockets through the sky. I try not to think about the way I held Marco’s hand as we ran, how scared we felt even talking too loud or using a flashlight. I try not to think of the moment I heard the gunshot fire.

A mess of tangled police tape catches my eye. I stop looking over the squared off area. 

The grave. 

They dug up the dirt that had collapsed in on Marco. Part of the netting is still overgrown with weeds and grass that had made the hole look less intimidating. All I can hear is Marco’s cries, the look on his face, the desperate grasp of his hands. Marco. Marco. Marco. 

I shake my head, my eyes flicking back to the figure that’s leading us on as he starts to disappear into the trees. “M-Marco!” I call after him hoping that this all wasn’t a sick game my brain is playing on me. 

Marco pauses, looking back at us, and waits. 

“What’s he doing?” Annie asks lowly. 

“He’s leading us,” I say keeping my eyes on Marco like he might disappear at any moment. 

It doesn’t take long until we’re back at the barn. Marco stops feet away from it looking up at the defaced paint of the wooden structure. It looks like kids have been here. Graffiti decorates the barn in loud, viscous words and hopeful prayers. Some tags condemn the demon that has possessed the Jaeger family, other’s wish mercy on the victims' souls. 

“You good?” I ask Marco beside me. If I were alone, or if it was just Annie and I, I would’ve lost my shit already. But with Marco here needing me, a survival instinct has kicked in and kept any crippling thoughts from torturing me. 

He glances at me with a twitch at his frown. “Yeah,” he says, “Let’s go.”

We step towards the barn, I leave Annie to the side just in case something really is wrong. Marco lets me approach the door first, giving a second glance before nodding. I wrap my fingers around the rusted lever of the barn and pull the creaky door open. 

It takes me two moments of squinting into the dusty darkness to recoil back. The stench hits me first. Rotten meat and excreted feces flood my senses and have me gagging in a bush. Annie’s asking me questions already but I need a moment to process the panic that fires up in my head. 

This can’t be happening. This isn’t real. Marco isn’t real. The scent isn’t real. Everything is just a response to visiting a place that was such a traumatic experience for me. My brain merely can’t handle this place anymore. It’s trying to ward me off and get me to safety by scaring the hell out of me. Yeah, it’s just my brain. It’s just my brain. 

“Jean,” Annie says. I look at her. She’s got her hand covering her mouth and nose, her eyes water. 

Fuck. She can smell it too. It’s real.

“What’s going on?” she asks from behind her hand. 

My body loses its brain as it decides that going back towards the barn is a good idea. Marco watches me, just as horrified as I feel. I stumble to the barn with my arms feeling like logs hanging from my sides. My brain repeats the same mantra. 

This can’t be happening. 

I peer into the dark again. My eyes burn along with my throat. Marco stays close to my side. 

My eyes decipher the barn with the slotted light coming through the roof. Once my eyes dilate properly, I squint at the figure that lays among the shadows. 

Another rush of sickness has me falling to my knees outside the door of the barn.

“Jean,” Annie calls again. I hear her wheels scraping along the ground getting closer inch by inch. “What the hell is-”

“Tell me that isn’t real,” I say into the darkness. Annie pauses behind me close enough to look inside the barn along with me. She’s silent. The three of us are silent. Praying that the universe isn’t telling us that perhaps everything that happened does have purpose. “Annie!” I choke, feeling the fear turn my bones into jelly. 

“Jean, it looks like-” Marco starts. I cut him off. 

“Don’t Marco, I fucking know, just don’t say it. Don’t.” I whimper as I look at the only hint of bright color in the barn. 

Long blonde hair tangled and ragged in dried blood.

“Jean,” Annie says, her voice calm and even. “Call Levi.”


End file.
